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THE POEMS 



Charles Fenno Hoffman. 



THE 



POEMS 



Charles Fenno Hoffman, 



COLLECTED AND EDITED 
BY HIS NEPHEW, 

EDWARD FENNO HOFFMAN. 



PHILADELPHIA: ■!-.'-'\;0'^ 

PORTER & COATES. '— "^ 

iS73- 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by 

EDWARD FENNO HOFFMAN, 
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



Westcott & Thomson, S h e r m a n & C 0., 

Stereotypers and Electrotypers, Philada. Printers, PhUada. 



PREFACE. 



Charles Fenno Hoffman was born in New York 
in 1806. He entered Columbia College when fif- 
teen years old, and remained there till the junior 
year, when he commenced the study of law in Al- 
bany. He was of too active a temperament for so 
quiet a life, and a number of his poems which ap- 
peared in the ** Albany Gazette"* having met with 
a favorable reception, he gradually drifted away from 
his profession, and engaged in an occupation more 
congenial to his tastes. During his literary career, 
he was for a number of years a contributor to the 
"New York American," and afterward became editor 
of the "Knickerbocker Magazine" and the "Literary 
World." In October, 1833, starting from New York 
on horseback, he made a tour in the dead of winter 

* Several of these poems may be found in this volume under 
the head of '* Forest Musings." 



8 . PREFACE. 

through the North-western States to the Mississippi, 
and home through the South-west, Kentucky and 
Virginia. During nearly the whole of this adven- 
turous ride he was entirely alone, with the exception 
of such chance companions as he would pick up on 
the way; and considering the intensity of the cold, 
the severity of the snow-storms and the unsettled 
state of the country, it is remarkable that he accom- 
plished it without an accident. On his return to 
New York the following May he published an ac- 
count of his trip in a series of letters entitled "A 
Winter in the West." He is also the author of 
^'Wild Scenes in Forest and Prairie," ''Grayslaer, 
a Romance," ''The Life of Jacob Leisler " and 
numerous essays which have never been collected. 

For the last twenty-five years, on account of ill- 
health, he has been obliged to forego all literary 
pursuits, and since his retirement, his writings have 
been for many years out of print, and his reputa- 
tion has only been kept alive by ''Monterey," 
"Sparkling and Bright," "Rosalie Clare" and 
other of his most popular songs which have found 
their way into the various compendiums of Ameri- 
can literature. In placing this volume of his poems 



PREFACE. 9 

before the public I have been influenced solely by 
a feeling that on account of their literary merits 
they should be collected, and that the author would 
prefer this task be performed by some near re- 
lative whose affection for him entitled to assume 
so delicate an office. Conscious that I possess 
this qualification, I have been encouraged to under- 
take what has been to me a most agreeable labor. 
A complete edition of his poems would be impossi- 
ble, as many of them appeared anonymously ; but 
in the present volume I have included a number of 
pieces not contained in either of the previous editions. 
It is rather a venture to reproduce poems which 
have remained so long a time in obscurity ; but in 
the conviction that a true appreciation of the beau- 
ties of nature and purity of sentiment are qualities 
which will always be admired, I have strong hopes 
that they will regain their former position of popu- 
larity with the public. 

My uncle was a lover of nature and the natural. 
Most of his leisure was spent in excursions on the 
Hudson and into the Adirondacks, at that time a 
trackless wilderness. He was passionately fond 
of these wild haunts, and took a particular inte- 



lO PREFACE. 

rest in the hunters and Indians, at that time the 
only inhabitants. He always enjoyed the greatest 
health and strength, and when on his rambles 
was perfectly indifferent to the weather or the ac- 
commodations he was obliged to put up with. 
Like all strong, simple-hearted men, love of coun- 
try was one of his predominating characteristics. 
He took a special interest in our early traditions 
and made them the subjects of most of his prose 
writings. The motto of a writer in the West is 
emblematic of his life : 

Where can I journey to your secret springs, 
Eternal nature ? Onward still I press, 
Follow thy windings still, yet sigh for more. 

Goethe. 

The following tribute to his character and author- 
ship from his friend and cotemporary, Mr, Bryant, 
to whom I return my sincere thanks for his interest, 
has given me great encouragement in my work. 

E. F. H. 

CUMMINGTON, MASS., Aug. 5, 1873. 

My Dear Sir: — I congratulate you on the com- 
pletion of the task which you have undertaken of 
collecting the poetical productions of your uncle, 



PREFACE. II 

Charles Fenno Hoffman, whom, while he lived in 
New York, I was proud to reckon among my friends, 
and whose kindly and generous temper and genial 
manners won the attachment of all who knew him. 
His poems bear the impress of his noble character. 
They are the thoughts of a man of eminent poetic 
sensibilities, who delights to sing of whatever 
moves the human heart — the domestic affections, 
patriotic reminiscences, the traditions of ancient 
loves and wars, and the ties of nature and friend- 
ship. These thoughts are expressed in musical 
versification with the embellishments of a ready 
fancy. The friends of your uncle have reason t .) 
thank you for presenting them in this manner the 
moral and intellectual image of him vyhom they 
have had such reason to esteem. 
I am, sir. 

Very truly yours, 

W. C. BRYANT. 
E. Fenno Hoffman, Esq. 



CONTENTS. 



FOREST MUSINGS. 

PAGH 

The Hunt is Up— A Meditation 21 

What is Solitude? 24 

The Bob-0-Linkum 26 

Primeval Woods 28 

The Streamlet 30 

A Hunter's Matin 30 

My Birchen Bark 31 

The Brook and the Pine 32 

The Western Hunter to his Mistress ^^ 

A Frontier Incident 34 

The Laurel 35 

The Ambuscade 38 

Away to the Forest 47 

Indian Summer, 1S28 48 

The Language of Flowers 49 

"Where would I Rest?" 50 

Morning Hymn 51 

Room, Boys, Room 52 

2 13 



14 CONTENTS. 

LAYS OF THE HUDSON. 

PAGE 

To the Hudson River 57 

Moonlight upon the Hudson — Written at West Point 58 

Kachesco — A Legend of the Sources of the Hudson 62 

Rhymes on West Point 102 

The Forest Cemetery 105 

LOVE POEMS. 

Love's Calendar; or, Eros and Anteros I13 

Love and Faith 131 

The Blighted Heart 133 

" L' Amour Sans Ailes" 134 

Trust not Love 135 

The Remonstrance 136 

Wake, Lady, Wake! 137 

Serenade 138 

The Coquette 138 

The Wish 141 

Waller to Sacharissa 142 

The Suicide — A Fragment 144 

Love's Vagaries 147 

Think of Me, Dearest 149 

Platonics 150 

" Coming Out " — A Dream 152 

The Lover's Star 154 

To a Lady — With a Collection of Verses 154 

Writing for an Album 155 

To a Lady Weeping in Church 156 

Holding a Girl's Jumping Rope 157 



CONTENTS. 1 5 

PAGE 

The Declaration 158 

Closing Accounts 161 

The Loon upon the Lake — From the Chippeway 163 

Translation of an Indian Love Song 164 

To a Lady who Talked of Communing with the Stars 

when she was Sad 165 

Tasso to Leonora 166 

St. Valentine's Day 167 

The Blush 168 

Thy Name 169 

The Call of Spring 170 

Written in a Lady's Prayer Book 172 

Myne Heartte 172 

The Love Test 173 

Seek not to Understand Her 175 

Withering, Withering 176 

" Our Friendship " 177 

To a Waxen Rose 177 

SONGS AND OCCASIONAL POEMS. 

Monterey 181 

The Men of Churubusco 182 

" Rio Bravo " — A Mexican Lament 1S4 

Le Faineant 187 

Rosalie Clare 188 

The Myrtle and Steel 189 

Algonquin War Song 191 

Algonquin Death Song 192 

Sparkling and Bright 195 

Buff and Blue 196 



1 5 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 
,, .. IQ7 

"Far Away' ^' 

The Sleigh Bells ^^8 

.. IQQ 
Anacreontic ^^ 

The Song of the Drowned 200 

No More— No More 2°^ 

Boat Song ^^^ 

Where dost thou Loiter, Spring ? 203 

Chansonnette ^°4 

A Portrait ^°5 

Birthday Thoughts 207 

■r, 208 

Byron 

The Thaw-king— His Visit to New York 208 

A Birthday Meditation 214 

TheYachter 217 

"Brunt the Fight "—Suggested by an Embalmed Indian 

Head 217 

Buena Vista 219 

My Dog 221 

The Mint Julep 222 

Notes to Kachesco 225 



Forest Musings. 



INSCRIPTION. 



The fragile bark whereon the Indian traces 

Rude tokens of his path for other eyes, 
Sometimes outlasts the tree on which he places 

Anew the birchen scroll he thence had peeled, 

And while he wanders forth to other skies, 
Some curious Settler, ere his axe he wield, 
The frail memorial careful bears away : — 
So I have freely traced a woodland lay. 

In lines as quaint as chart of- forest child. 
Content, like him, if passing on my way, 

I cheer some friendly heart in life's dull wild — 
A birchen scroll from birchen tree y'cleft, 
A trail of moccasin in wildering forest left. 



Forest Musings 



The Hunt is Up. 

A MEDITATION. 



T= 



HE hunt is up— 
The merry woodland shout, 
That rung these echoing glades about 

An hour agone, 
Hath swept beyond the eastern hills, 

Where, pale and lone, 
The moon her mystic circle fills ; 
Awhile across her slowly reddening disk 

The dusky larch. 

As if to pierce the blue o'erhanging arch, 
Lifts its tall obelisk. 

And now from thicket dark. 

And now from mist-wreathed river 
The fire-fly's spark 

Will fitful quiver. 
And bubbles round the lily's cup 
From lurking trout come coursing up, 

21 



22 FOREST MUSINGS. 

Where stoops the wading fawn to drink : 

While scared by step so near, 
Uprising from the sedgy brink 
The clanging bittern's cry will sink 

Upon the hunter's ear; 
Who, startled from his early sleep, 

Lists for some sound approaching nigher — 
Half-dreaming, lists — then turns to heap 

Another fagot on his fire, 
And then again, in dreams renewed. 
Pursues his quarry through the wood. 

And thus upon my dreaming youth, 

When boyhood's gambols pleased no more, 
And young Romance, in guise of Truth, 
Usurped the heart all theirs before ; 
Thus broke Ambition's trumpet-note 

On visions wild. 
Yet blithesome as this river 

On which the smiling moonbeams float 
That thus have there for ages smiled, 
And will thus smile for ever. 
And now no more the fresh green-wood. 

The forest's fretted aisles. 
And leafy domes above them bent. 
And solitude 
So eloquent ! 
Mocking the varied skill y' -blent 
In Art's most gorgeous piles — 
No more can soothe my soul to sleep 
Than they can awe the sounds that sweep 



THE HUNT IS UP. 23 

To hunter's horn and merriment 

Their verdant passes through, 
When fresh the dun-deer leaves his scent 

Upon the morning dew. 

The game's afoot ! — and let the chase 
Lead on, whate'er my destiny — 

Though Fate her funeral drum may brace 
Full soon for me ! 

And wave death's pageant o'er me — 
Yet now the new and untried world 
Like maiden banner first unfurled, 

Is glancing bright before me ! 
The quarry soars ! and mine is now the sky, 
Where, '■' at what bird I please, my hawk shall fly !" 

Yet something whispers through the wood — 
A voice like that perchance 

Which taught the hunter of Egeria's grove 
To tame the Roman's dominating mood. 

And lower, for awhile, his conquering lance 
Before the images of Law and Love — 
Some mystic voice that ever since hath dwelt 

Along with Echo in her dim retreat, 
A voice whose influence all, at times, have felt 

By wood or glen, or where on silver strand 
The clasping waves of Ocean's belt 

Will clashing meet 
Around the land : 
It whispers me that soon — too soon 

The pulses which now beat so high, 



24 FOREST MUSINGS. 

Impatient with the world to cope, 
Will, like the hues of autumn sky, 
Be changed and fallen ere life's noon 
Should tame its morning hope. 



Yet why, 
While Hope so jocund singeth 
And with her plumes the gray beard's arrow wingeth, 

Should I 
Think only of the barb it bringeth ? 
Though every dream deceive 

That to my youth is dearest, 
Until my heart they leave 

Like forest leaf when searest — 
Yet still, mid forest leaves 

Where now 
Its tissue thus my idle fancy weaves, 
Still with heart new-blossoming 
While leaves, and buds, and wild flowers spring. 

At Nature's shrine I'll bow; 
Nor seek in vain that truth in her 
She keeps for her idolater. 



What is Solitude? 

NOT in the shadowy wood. 
Not in the crag-hung glen, 
Not where the echoes brood 
In caves untrod by men ; 



i 



WHAT IS SOLITUDE? 2^ 

Not by the black seashore, 

Where barren surges break, 
Not on the mountain hoar, 

Not by the breezeless lake ] 
Not on the desert plain 

Where man hath never stood, 
Whether on isle or main — 

Not there is solitude. 



Birds are in woodland bowers ; 

Voices in lonely dells : 
Streams to the listening hours 

Talk in earth's secret cells; 
Over the gray-ribbed sand 

Breathe Ocean's frothy lips; 
Over the still lake's strand 

The wild flower toward it dips; 
Pluming the mountain's crest 

Life tosses in its pines. 
Coursing the desert's breast 

Life in the steed's mane shines. 



Leave — if thou wouldst be lonely- 
Leave Nature for the crowd ; 

Seek there for one — one only 
With kindred mind endowed ! 

There — as with Nature erst 

Closely thou wouldst commune- 

The deep soul-music nursed 
lx\ either heart, attune ! 



26 FOREST MUSINGS. 

Heart-wearied thou wilt own, 
Vainly that phantom wooed, 

That thou at last hast known 
What is true Solitude ! 



The Bob-0-Linkum. 

THOU vocal sprite — thou feather' d troubadour ! 
In pilgrim weeds through manya clime a ranger, 
Com'st thou to doff thy russet suit once more 

And play in foppish trim the masquing stranger? 
Philosophers may teach thy whereabouts and nature ; 

But wise, as all of us, perforce, must think 'em. 
The school-boy best hath fixed thy nomenclature. 
And poets, too, must call thee Bob-0-Linkum. 

Say! art thou, long 'mid forest glooms benighted. 

So glad to skim our laughing meadows over — 
With our gay orchards here so much delighted. 

It makes thee musical, thou airy rover? 
Or are those buoyant notes the pilfer' d treasure 

Of fairy isles, which thou hast learn'd to ravish 
Of all their sweetest minstrelsy at pleasure. 

And, Ariel-like, again on men to lavish ? 

They tell sad stories of thy mad-cap freaks 
Wherever o'er the land thy pathway ranges ; 

And even in a brace of wandering weeks. 

They say, alike thy song and plumage changes; 



THE BOB-0-LINKUM. 2/ 

Here both are gay ; and when the buds put forth, 
And leafy June is shading rock and river, 

Thou art unmatch'd, blithe warbler of the North, 
While through the balmy air thy clear notes quiver 

Joyous, yet tender — was that gush of song 

Caught from the brooks, where 'mid its wild 
flowers smiling 
The silent prairie listens all day long. 

The only captive to such sweet beguiling ; 
Or didst thou, flitting through the verdurous halls 

And column'd isles of western groves symphonious, 
Learn from the tuneful woods, rare madrigals. 

To make our flowering pastures here harmonious? 

Caught'st thou thy carol from Ottawa maid. 

Where, through the liquid fields of wild-rice 
plashing, 
Brushing the ears from off the burdened blade. 

Her birch canoe o'er some lone lake is flashing? 
Or did the reeds of some savannah south 

Detain thee while thy northern flight pursuing. 
To place those melodies in thy sweet mouth, 

The spice-fed winds had taught them in their 
wooing ? 

Unthrifty prodigal ! — is no thought of ill 
Thy ceaseless roundelay disturbing ever? 

Or doth each pulse in choiring cadence still 
Throb on in music till at rest for ever? 



28 FOREST MUSINGS. 

Yet now in wilder'd maze of concord floating, 
'Twould seem that glorious hymning to prolong, 

Old Time in hearing thee might fall a-doting, 
And pause to listen to thy rapturous song ! 



Prime val Wo ods. 



YES ! even here, not less than in the crowd, 
Here, where yon vault in formal sweep seems 

piled 
Upon the pines, monotonously proud. 
Fit dome for fane, within whose hoary veil 
No ribald voice an echo hath defiled — 
Where Silence seems articulate ; up-stealing 
Like a low anthem's heavenward wail : — 
Oppressive on my bosom weighs the feeling 
Of thoughts that language cannot shape aloud ; 
For song too solemn, and for prayer too wild, — 
Thoughts, which beneath no human power could 

quail. 
For lack of utterance, in abasement bow'd — 
The cavern' d waves that struggle for revealing, 
Upon whose idle foam alone God's light hath smiled. 

II. 

Ere long thine every stream shall find a tongue, 
Land of the Many Waters ! But the sound 
Of human music, these wild hills among. 
Hath no one save the Indian mother flung 



PRIMEVAL WOODS. 29 

Its spell of tenderness? Oh, o'er this ground, 

So redolent of Beauty, hath there play'd no breath 

Of human poesy — none beside the word 

Of Love, as, murmur' d these old boughs beneath, 

Some fierce and savage suitor it hath bound 

To gentle pleadings? Have but these been heard? 

No mind, no soul here kindled but my own ? 

Doth not one hollow trunk about resound 

With the faint echoes of a song long flown, 

By shadows like itself now haply heard alone? 

III. 

And Ye, with all this primal growth must go ! 
And loiterers beneath some lowly spreading shade, 
Where pasture-kissing breezes shall, ere then, have 

play'd, 
A century hence, will doubt that there could grow 
From that meek land such Titans of the glade ! 
Yet wherefore /;7>//^7/ / when beneath my tread 
Are roots whose thrifty growth, perchance, hath 

arm'd 
The Anak spearman when his trump alarm'd ; 
Roots that the Deluge wave hath plunged below ; 
Seeds that the Deluge wind hath scattered ; 
Berries that Eden's warblers may have fed ; 
In slime of earlier worlds preserved unharmed, 
Again to quicken, germinate, and blow, 
Again to charm the land as erst the land they 

charm' d. 

3* 



30 FOREST MUSINGS. 



The Streamlet. 



HOW silently yon streamlet slides 
From out the twilight-shaded bovvers ! 
How, soft as sleep, it onward glides 

In sunshine through its dreaming flowers. 

That tranquil wave, now turn'd to gold 
Beneath the slowly westering sun, 

It is the same, far on the wold. 

Whose foam this morn we gazed upon. 

The leaden sky, the barren waste, 
The torrent we this morning knew, 

How changed are all ! as now we haste 
To bid them, with the day, adieu ! 

Ah ! thus should life and love at last 

Grow bright and sweet when death is near 

May we, our course of trial pass'd. 

Thus bathed in beauty glide from here ! 



A HUNTER'S Matin. 

UP, comrades, up, the morn's awake 
Upon the mountain side. 
The curlew's wing hath swept the lake. 
And the deer has left the tangled brake, 

To drink from the limpid tide. 
Up, comrades, up ! the mead-lark's note 
And the plover's cry o'er the prairie float, 



THE BIRCHEN BARK. '■ 

The squirrel he springs from his covert now 
To prank it away on the chestnut bough, 
Where the oriole's pendent nest high up, 

Is rock'd on the swaying trees, 
While the humbird sips from the harebell's cup, 

As it bends to the morning breeze. 
Up, comrades, up ! our shallops grate 

Upon the pebbly strand, 
And our stalwart hounds impatient wait 

To spring from the huntsman's hand. 



My Birchen Bark. 

MY birchen bark, my birchen bark ! 
When Fortune first made Love a rover. 
He shaped it for his own trim ark 

To float Care's deluge gayly over. 
Then leave the boasting pioneer 

To hew his skiff from yonder pine, 
And, dearest, with young Love to steer. 

Become a passenger in mine : 
In swan-like grace thy form resembling — 
With joy beneath thy sweet limbs trembling — 
For lightsome heart, oh, such a boat 
On summer wave did never float ! 

Think'st thou, my love, that painted barge, 
With gaudy pennant flaunting o'er her. 

Could kiss, like her, the flowery marge. 

Nor break the foam-bells formed before her ? 



32 FOREST MUSINGS. 

Look, sweet, the very lotus-cup. 

Trembling as if with bliss o'erbrimm'd, 

Seemed now almost to buoy her up 

As o'er the heart-shaped leaves we skimm'd- 

Those floating hearts, beside their flowers, 

Half bear the boat and both of ours ! 

For lightsome heart, oh, such a boat 

On summer wave did never float ! 



The Brook and the Pine. 

TELL me, fair Brook, that long hast sung. 
To yonder Pine hast sung so sweetly — 
Are its wild arms more near thee flung, 

When night their motion veils completely? 
Or, for the morn's caressing rays 

Still eager, will it toss its boughs, — 
Like hearts that only beat for praise, 
All heedless of affection's vows? 

I never pause — the Brook replied — 

To know how near it bends above me, 
I cannot help, whate'er betide. 

To sing for one I fain would love me ; 
My song flows on, and still must flow, 

My chosen Pine with truth to bless, 
Though rippling pebbles sometimes show 

The brook athirst with tenderness : 

Nay more — when thus, while troublous, oft 
My wavelets flash some ray redeeming. 



THE HUNTER TO HIS MISTRESS. 33 

I think but of the Pine aloft, 

Which first will proudly hail its beaming ! 
And, wasted thus, a joy it is 

To know my Pine, — refresh'd and bright, 
While I distill'd each dewy kiss — 

Is worthy of all glorious light ! 



The Western Hunter to his Mistress. 

WEND, love, with me, to the deep woods wend. 
Where far in the forest the wild flowers keep. 
Where no watching eye shall over us bend. 

Save the blossoms that into thy bower may peep. 
Thou shalt gather from buds of the oriole's hue, 
Whose flaming wings round our pathway flit. 
From the saffron orchis and lupin blue. 

And those like the foam on my courser's bit. 

One steed and one saddle us both shall bear, 

One hand of each on the bridle meet ; 
And beneath the wrist that entwines me there. 

An answering pulse from my heart shall beat. 
I will sing thee many a joyous lay. 

As we chase the deer by the blue lake-side. 
While the winds that over the prairie play 

Shall fan the cheek of my woodland bride. 

Our home shall be by the cool, bright streams, 
Where the beaver chooses her safe retreat, 

A.nd our hearth shall smile like the sun's warm gleams 
Through the branches around our lodge that meet. 



34 FOREST MUSINGS. 

Then wend with me, to the deep woods wend, 
Where far in the forest the wild flowers keep, 

Where no watching eye shall over us bend, 

Save the blossoms that into thy bower may peep. 



A Frontier Incident. 

THE Indian whoop is heard without, 
Within the Indian arrow lies; 
There's horror in that fiendish shout. 
There's death where'er that arrow flies. 

Two trembling women there alone. 

Alone to guard a feeble child ; 
What shield, O God ! is round them thrown 

Amid that scene of peril wild ? 

Thy Book upon the table there 

Reveals at once from whence could flow 
The strength to dash aside despair. 

The meekness to abide the blow. 

Already, half resign'd, she kneels. 

And half imploring, kneels the mother. 

Awhile angelic courage steels 
The gentle nature of the other. 

They thunder on the oaken door. 

They pierce the air with furious yell. 

And soon that plume upon the floor 
May grace some painted warrior well. 



THE LAUREL. 35 

Oh, why cannot one stalwart arm 

But wield the brand that hangeth by? 

And snatch the noble girl from harm, 
Who heedeth not the hellish cry? 

A shot ! the savage leader falls — 

The maiden's eye which aim'd the gun — 

That eye, whose deadly aim appals. 
Is tearful when its task is done. 

He falls — and straight with baffled cries, 
His tribesmen fly in wild dismay ; 

And now, beneath the evening skies, 
That Household may in safety pray. 



The Laurel. 



BELIEVE him not, that rhyming, rakish Roman, 
Who swore so roundly that a lover's quarrel 
Between one Phoebus and some thick-shod woman. 
First caused to sprout the leaflets of the laurel ! 

Why, long ago, — ere his Deucalion floated 
Upon that freshet, which was so surprising 

In that small world where every rill is noted, 
As if it were a Mississippi rising : 

Yes, long ere then, on Alleghan's bright mountains, 
Na-nabozho had seen the laurel growing, 

With berries glassed in Adirondach fountains. 
Or cup mist-filled near Niagara's flowing : 



^6 FOREST MUSINGS. 

A crimped and dainty cup, whose timid flushing 
Tinted the creamy hue of lips so shrinking, 

He thought at first some sentient thing was bkishing, 
To be thus caught from such a caldron thinking. 

Plants then had tongues, — if we believe old story, 
As told by red men under forest branches, — 

(Who still insist they hear that language hoary, 
Ere mountain-woods descend in avalanches.*) 

Plants then had tongues, and in their careless tattle, 
Each painted creature on its footstalk swaying. 

Beguiled the loitering hunter, with their prattle, 
Secrets of Nature and old Earth betraying. 

And once, they said, when Earth seemed fully 
freighted 

With pearly cup, and star, and tufted blossom, 
A Mohawk youth, with spirit all unmated, 

On old Ta-ha-wasf flung his weary bosom. 

He knew not, could not, comprehend the feeling 

That kept him mute oppressed with thought unut- 
tered. 
That wild, wild sense of loveliness o'erstealing 

Which urged his pent soul forth on wing unfet- 
tered. 

* Forest Avalanches, or " Mountain Slides," are said to be 
preceded by a strange groaning of the trees. It is probably, 
however, only the gj'inding of the loosened ground beneath 
them. 

f The high peak of the Adirondachs, in whose side is the 
fountain-head of the Hudson, 



THE LAUREL. 37 

Despairing and bewildered in his sorrow, 

He pressed with quivering lip the hollow mountain, 

As he its giant hardihood would borrow, 

Its free-voiced rushing wind and chainless fountain. 

This for a savage to be sure was tender, — 

Whose hottest passion chiefly for the chase is : 

And when his native soil refused to render 

Aught of response to her wild son's embraces, — 

He breathed into the ground vague thoughts of 
power, 

The yearnings of a soul in silence hidden ; 
Beneath the midnight sky in that lone hour. 

Thought found a language by itself unbidden ! 

Then, with no human eye its birth beholding. 
No fostering plaudit human hands bestowing. 

First to the dew its glossy leaves unfolding, 

Sprouted the Laurel, from its own heart growing. 

And still that type of native genius telleth. 
On barren rock, or lonely woodland bower, 

Not in appi'oval, but in Utterance dwelleth 
The Poet's craving, and the Poet's power. 
4 



38 forest musings. 

The Ambuscade. 

A TRADITION OF LAKE IROQUOIS, OR CHAMPLAIN. 

THE mountain-tops are bright above, 
The lake is bright beneath — 
And the mist is seen, the rocks between, 

In a silver shroud to wreathe. 
Merrily on the maple spray 
The redbreast trills his roundelay, 
And the oriole blithely flits among 
The boughs where her pendent nest is hung : 
The squirrel his morning revel keeps 

In the chestnut's leafy screen, 
And the fliwn from the thicket gayly leaps 

To gambol upon the green. 
Now on the broad lake's waters blue 
Dances many a light canoe ; 
And banded there, in wampum sheen, 
Many a crested chief is seen; 
Now as the foamy fringe they break, 
Which the waves, where they kiss the margin, make^ 
The shallops shoot on the snowy strand, 
And the plumed warriors leap to land. 

They bear their pirogues of birchen bark 

Far in the shadowy forest glade. 
And plunge them deep in covert dark 

Of the closely-woven hazel shade ; 
Then stealthily tread in each other's track, 
And with wary step come gliding back. 



THE AMBUSCADE. 39 

And when the water again is won, 

Unlace the beaded rnoccason, 

And covering first with careful hand 

The footmarks dash'd in the yielding sand, 

Round jutting point and dented bay 

rivrough the wave they take their winding way. 

Awhile their painted forms are seen 
Gleaming along the margin green. 
And then the sunny lake is left — 
Where issuing from a mountain cleft — 
Above whose bold impending height 
The dusky larch excludes the light, 
The current of a rivulet 
Conceals their wary footsteps yet. 

Scaling the rocks, where strong and deep 
Abrupt the waters foaming leap. 
Along the stream they bending creep, 
Where the hanging birch's tassels sweep, 
Thrid the witch-hazel and alder-maze. 
Where in broken rills the streamlet strays. 
And reach the spot where its oozy tide 
Steals from the mountain's shaggy side. 

Now where wild vines their tendrils fling, 

From crag to crag their forms they swing. 

Some boldly find a footing where 

The mountain cat would hardly dare , 

Others as lightly onward bound 

As the frolic chipmonk skips the ground. 



40 FOREST MUSINGS. 

Till all the midway mountain gain 

And there once more collected meet, 
Where on the eagle's wild domain 

The morning sunbeams fiercely beat. 

There's a glen upon that mountain-side, 

A sunny dell expanding wide, 

Where the eye that looks through the green arcade 

Of cliffs in vines and shrubs array'd, 

Sees many a silver stream and lake 

Upon its raptured vision break ; 

That sunny dell has its opening bright 

Almost within an arrow's flight 

Of a fearful gorge whose upper side 

Rank weeds and furze as closely hide, 

As if Pau-puck-wis there had plied 

His skill in weaving osiers green, 
And thus in thievish freak had tried 

Its gloomy mouth to screen. 

'Tis a chasm beneath the wooded steep. 

Where the brain will swim and the blood will creep 

When its dizzy edge is seen, 
And the Fiend will prompt the heart to leap 
When the eye would measure the yawning deep 

Of that hideous ravine ! 
Far down the gulf in distance dim 
The bat will oft at noontide skim, 
The rattlesnake like a shadow glides 
Through poisonous weeds in its shelvy sides, 



THE AMBUSCADE. 4 1 

While swarming lizards loathsome crawl 
Where the green-damp stands on the slimy wall, 
And the venomous copper-snake's heard to hiss 
On the frightful edge of that black abyss. 

Here, in the feathery fern — between 
The tangled thicket's matted screen. 
Their weapons hid, save where a blade 
From straggling ray reflection made, 

The Adirondach warriors lay. 
The morning sees them gather there 
And crouch within their leafy lair — 

The scorching beams of noontide hour, 
If boughs should lift, would only play 
On bronzed and motionless array 

Within that silent bower : 
Still silent when the mantle gray 

Of sombre twilight slowly fell 

O'er rocky height and wooded dell. 
Those men of bronze all silent they 
Still waited for their prey ! 

How slow the languid moments move. 

How long to him their lapse appears 
In whom remorse, or fear, or love, 

Concentres griefs untold by tears. 

The gather' d agony of years ! 
But o'er the Indian warrior's soul 
Uncounted and unheeded roll 

Long hours, like these in watching spent, 

4* 



42 FOREST MUSINGS. 

The moments that he knows within, 

When on the glorious War-Path sent, 
Are calm as those which usher in 
The thunders of the firmament ! 

The moose hath left the rushy brink 
Where he stole to the lake at eve to drink, 
And sought his lair in thicket dark. 
Lit only by the fire-fly's spark. 
Now myriad stars are twinkling through 
The vaulted heaven's veil of blue. 
And seen reflected in the wave 
With golden studs its bed to pave. 
Now as upon the western hills 
The moon her mystic circle fills, 
Against the sky each cliff is flung. 
As if at magic touch it sprung ; 
And as the wood her beam receives, 

The dewdrop in that virgin light 
Pendent from the quivering leaves, 

Sparkles upon the pall of night. 

Deep in the linden's foliage hid, 

Complains the peevish katydid, 

And the shrill screech-owl answers back 

From tulip tree and tamarack. 

At times along the placid lake 

A solitary trout will break. 

And rippling eddies on the stream 

In trembling circles faintly gleam ; 

While near the sedgy shore is heard 

The plash of that ill-omen'd bird, 



THE AMBUSCADE. 43 

Whose dismal note and boding cry 

Will oft the startled ear assail, 
When lowering clouds obscure the sky, 
And when the tempest gathers nigh 

Come quivering in the rising gale. 

Oh, why cannot that loon's wild shriek 
To them a feeble warning speak, 
Whose proudly waving banner now 
Comes floating round the mountain brow, 
Whose gallant ranks in close array 
Now gleam along the moonlit way ; 
And now with many a break between. 
Are winding through the long ravine ? 

Oh, why cannot that loon's wild shriek 
To them a feeble warning speak. 
Who careless press a foeman's sod 
As if in banquet-hall they trod ; 
Who rashly thus undaunted dare 

To chase in woods the forest child, 
To hunt the panther to his lair, 

The Indian in his native wild ? 

Unapprehensive thus, at night 

The wild doe looking from the brake. 

To where there gleams a fitful light 
Dotted upon the rippling lake. 

Sees not the silver spray-drop dripping 

From the lithe oar which, softly dipping, 



44 FOREST MUSINGS. 

Impels the wily hunter's boat; 
But on his ruddy torch's rays, 

As nearer, clearer now they float, 
The fated quarry stands to gaze. 

And dreaming not of cruel sport, 
Withdraws not thence her gentle eyes 

Until the rifle's sharp report 
The simple creature hears and dies. 

Buoyant with youth, as heedless they 

Pursue the death-besetted way. 

As cautionless each one proceeds, 

Where his doom'd steps the pathway leads, 

As if the peril of that hour 

But led those steps to beauty's bower. 

They come with stirring fife and drum. 

With flaunting plume and pennon come, 

To solitudes where never yet 

Hath gleamed the glistening bayonet — 

Banner upon the breeze hath flown. 

Or bugle note before been blown. 

The cautious beaver starts with fear, 

That strange unwonted sound to hear ; 

But still her grave demeanor keeps. 

As from her hovel-door she peeps — 

Observing thence with curious eye 

The pageant as it passes by ; 

Pauses the wailing whipporwill 

One moment, in her plaintive trill, 

As echoing on the mountain-side 

Their martial music wanders wide ; 



THE AMBUSCADE. 45 

Then, as the last note dies away, 
Pursues once more her broken lay. 

At length they reach that fatal steep, 
Which, hanging o'er the chasm deep, 
With stunted copse and tangled heath, 
Conceals the gulf that yawns beneath. 
The watchful Indian, from his lair. 
One moment sees them falter there — 
One moment looks, with eagle eye. 
To mark their forms against the sky ; 
Then through the night air, wild and high, 
Peals the red warrior's battle cry. 

From sassafras and sumac green. 
From shatter'd stump, and riven rock — 

From the dark hemlock boughs between 
Is launch 'd the gleaming tomahawk. 

And savage eyes glare fiercely out 

From every bush and vine about ; 

And savage forms the branches throw 

In dusky masses on the foe. 

In vain their leaders strive to form 
Their ranks beneath that living storm ! 
As whoop on whoop discordant fell 

Loudly on their astounded ears, 
As if at once each fiendish yell 
Awoke, within that narrow dell. 

The echoes of a thousand years ! 
No rallying cry, no hoarse command 
Can marshal that bewilder'd band \ 



46 FOREST MUSINGS. 

Nor clarion-call to standard, more 
Those panic-stricken ranks restore ; 
Now strown like pines upon the path 
Where bursts the fierce tornado's wrath. 

Yet some there are who undismay'd 

Seek sternly, back to back array'd, 

With eye and blade alert, in vain 

A moment's footing to maintain. 

Though gallant hearts direct the steel, 

And stalwart arms the buffets deal, 

What can a score of brands avail 

When each as many foes assail ! 

Like scud before the wintry blast, 

That through the sky comes sweeping fast, 

Like leaves upon the tempest whirl'd 

They toward the steep are struggling hurl'd. 

Valor in vain, in vain despair 

Nerves many a frantic bosom there, 

Furious with the unequal strife, 

To cling with desperate force to life. 

There, fighting slill, with mad endeavor, 

As on the dizzy edge they hover. 

Their bugle breathes one rallying note. 

Pennon and plume one moment float ; 

Then, swept beyond the frightful brink 

Like mist, into the chasm sink ; 

Within whose bosom as they fell. 

Arose as hideous, wild a yell 

As if the very earth were riven. 

And shrieks from hell were upward driven. 



AWAY TO THE FOREST. 47 



Away to the Forest. 

AWAY to the forest, away, love, away ! 
My foam-champing courser reproves thy delay, 
And the brooks are all calling. Away, love, away ! 
Away to the forest, my own love, with me ! 
Away where thro' checker'd glade sports the wind 
free. 

Where in the bosky dell 
Watching young leaflets swell, 
Spring on each floral bell 
Counteth for thee 

Away to the forest, away ! 

Away to the forest, away, love, away ! 
Each breath of the morning reproves thy delay ; 
Each shadow retiring beckons away ! 
Hark ! how the blue-bird's throat carolling o'er us 
Chimes with the thrush's note floating before us ! 
Away then, my gentle one, 
Thy voice is miss'd alone. 
Away — let love's whisper'd tone 
Swell the bright chorus. 

Away to the forest, away 1 



48 FOREST MUSINGS. 



Indian Summer, is28. 

LIGHT as love's smile the silvery mist at morn 
Floats in loose flakes along the limpid river ; 
The blue-bird's notes upon the soft breeze borne, 

As high in air he carols, faintly quiver ; 
The weeping birch, like banners idly waving, 
Bends to the stream, its spicy branches laving. 

Beaded with dew the witch-elm's tassels shiver; 
The timid rabbit from the furze is peeping. 
And from the springy spray the squirrel gayly leaping. 

I love thee. Autumn, for thy scenery, ere 

The blasts of winter chase the varied dyes 
That richly deck the slow declining year ; 
I love the splendor of thy sunset skies. 
The gorgeous hues that tint each failing leaf 
Lovely as beauty's cheek, as woman's love too, 
brief; 
I love the note of each wild bird that flies. 
As on the wind he pours his parting lay, 
And wings his loitering flight to summer climes 
away. 

O Nature ! fondly I still turn to thee 

With feelings fresh as e'er my chilhood's were; 
Though wild and passion -tost my youth may be. 

Toward thee I still the same devotion bear ; 
To thee — to thee — though health and hope no more 
Life's wasted verdure may to me restore — 

Still — still, childlike I come, as when in prayer 



THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 49 

I bowed my head upon a mother's knee, 

And deem'd the world, like her, all truth and purity. 



Tlie Language of Flowers. 

TEACH thee their language ! sweet, I know no 
tongue, 
No mystic art those gentle things declare, 
I ne'er could trace the schoolman's trick among 

Created things, so delicate and rare : 
Their language ? Prythee ! why they are themselves 

But bright thoughts syllabled to shape and hue, 
The tongue that erst was spoken by the elves, 

When tenderness as yet within the world was new. 

And oh, do not their soft and starry eyes — 
' Now bent to earth, to heaven now meekly plead- 
ing— 
Their incense fainting as it seeks the skies, 

Yet still from earth with freshening hope receding — 
Say, do not these to every heart declare. 

With all the silent eloquence of truth, 
The language that they speak is Nature's prayer, 

To give her back those spotless days of youth ? 

5 



50 FOREST MUSINGS. 

" Where would I Restt 

UNDER old boughs, where moist the livelong 
summer 
The moss is green, and springy to your tread, 
When you, my friend, shall be an often comer 
To pierce the thicket, seeking for my bed : 

For thickets heavy all around should screen it 
From careless gazer that might wander near, 

Nor even to him who by some chance had seen it. 
Would I have aught to catch his eye, appear : 

One lonely stem — a trunk those old boughs lifting. 
Should mark the spot ; and, haply, new thrift owe 

To that which upward through its sap was drifting 
From what lay mouldering round its roots below. 

There my freed spirit with the dawn's first gleaming 
Would come to revel round the dancing spray : 

There would it linger with the day's last beaming. 
To watch thy footsteps thither track their way. 

The quivering leaf should whisper in that hour 
Things that for thee alone would have a sound, 

And parting boughs my spirit-glances shower 
In gleams of light upon the mossy ground. 

There, when long years and all thy journeyings 
over — 
Loosed from this world thyself to join the free, 



MORNING HYMN. 51 

Thou too wouldst come to rest beside thy lover 
In that sweet cell beneath our Trysting-Tree. 



Morning Hymn 

LET there be light !" The Eternal spoke, 
And from the abyss where darkness rode 
The earliest dawn of nature broke, 
And light around creation flow'd. 
The glad earth smiled to see the day, 

The first-born day, come blushing in; 
The young day smiled to shed its ray 
Upon a world untouch'd by sin. 

''Let there be light !" O'er heaven and earth, 

The God who first the day-beam pour'd, 
Utter' d again his fiat forth, 

And shed the Gospel's light abroad. 
And, like the dawn, its cheering rays 

On rich and poor were meant to fall. 
Inspiring their Redeemer's praise 

In lowly cot and lordly hall. 

Then come, when in the Orient first 

Flushes the signal light for prayer j 
Come with the earliest beams that burst 

From God's bright throne of glory there. 
Come kneel to Him who through the night 

Hath watch' d above thy sleeping soul, 
To Him, whose mercies, like his light, 

Are shed abroad from pole to pole. 



52 forest musings. 

Room, Boys, Room. 

''JpHERE was an old hunter camp'd down by the 

1 rill, 

Who fish'd in this water, and shot on that hill. 
The forest for him had no danger, nor gloom, 
For all that he wanted was plenty of room ! 
Says he, "• The world's wide, there is room for us all ; 
Room enough in the green-wood, if not in the hall. 
Room, boys, room, by the light of the moon. 
For why shouldn't every man enjoy his own room?" 

He wove his own nets, and his shanty was spread 
With the skins he had dress'd and stretch'd out 

overhead ; 
Fresh branches of hemlock made fragrant the floor. 
For his bed, as he sung when the daylight was o'er, 
" The world's wide enough, there is room for us all ; 
Room enough in the green-wood, if not in the hall. 
Room, boys, room, by the light of the moon, 
For why shouldn't every man enjoy his own room?" 

That spring now half choked by the dust of the road. 
Under boughs of old maples once limpidly flow'd ; 
By the rock whence it bubbles his kettle was hung. 
Which their sap often fill'd, while the hunter he sung, 
" The world's wide enough, there is room for us all ; 
Room enough in the green-wood, if not in the hall. 
Room, boys, room, by the light of the moon, 
For why shouldn't every man enjoy his own room ?" 



ROOM, BOYS, ROOM. 53 

And still sung the hunter — when one gloomy day, 
He saw in the forest what sadden'd his lay, — 
A heavy-wheel 'd wagon its black rut had made. 
Where fair grew the greensward in broad forest 

glade — 
'' The world's wide enough, there is room for us all ; 
Room enough in the green-wood, if not in the hall. 
Room, boys, room, by the light of the moon. 
For why shouldn't every man enjoy his own room ?" 

He whistled his dog, and says he, " We can't stay; 
I must shoulder my rifle, up traps, and away." 
Next day, through those maples the settler's axe rung. 
While slowly the hunter trudged off as he sung, 
'' The world's wide enough, there is room for us all ; 
Room enough in the green-wood, if not in the hall. 
Room, boys, room, by the light of the moon. 
For why shouldn't every man enjoy his own room ?" 
5 * 



Lays of the Hudson. 



" — Thou didst hear the far off Ocean sound, 
Inviting thee from hill and vale away, 
To mingle thy deep waters with its own ; 
And at that voice thy steps did onward glide, 
Onward from echoing hill and valley lone — 
Like thine oh be my course ! nor turned aside 
While listing to the soundings of a land 
That, like the ocean-call, invites me to its strand." 

Mrs. Oakes Smith's Sonnet to the Hudson. 



Lays of the Hudson. 



To THE Hudson River. 

RIVER, O river, thou rovest free 
From the mountain height to the fresh blue sea, 
Free thyself, while in silver chain 
Linking each charm of land and main. 
Calling at first thy banded waves 
From hill-side thickets and fern-hid caves. 
From the splinter'd crag thou leap'st below, 
Through leafy glades at will to flow — 
Idling now 'mid the dallying sedge. 
Slumbering now by the steep's moss'd edge. 
With statelier march once more to break 
From wooded valley to breezy lake ; 
Yet all of these scenes, though fair they be, 
River, O river, are bann'd to me ! 

River, O river ! upon thy tide 
Gayly the freighted vessels glide ; 
Would that thou thus couldst bear away 
The thoughts that burthen my weary day. 
Or that I, from all, save them, set free. 
Though laden still, might rove with thee. 

57 



58 LAVS OF THE HUDSON. 

True that thy waves brief lifetime find, 
And live at the will of the wanton wind — 
True that thou seekest the ocean's flow 
To be lost therein for evermoe ! 
Yet the slave who worships at Glory's shrine, 
But toils for a bubble as frail as thine. 
But loses his freedom here, to be 
Forgotten as soon as in death set free. 



Moonlight upon the Hudson."^ 

WRITTEN AT WEST POINT. 

I'M not romantic, but, upon my word, 
There are some moments when one can't help 
feeling 
As if his heart's chords were so strongly stirr'd 

By things around him, that 'tis vain concealing ; 
A little music in his soul still lingers, 
Whene'er its keys are touch' d by Nature's fingers. 

And even here upon this settee lying 

With many a sleepy traveller near me snoozing, 

Thoughts warm and wild are through my bosom fly- 
ing, 
Like founts when first into the sunshine oozing : 

For who can look on mountain, sky and river. 

Like these, and then be calm and cold as ever ! 

* Written in the baggage-room while waiting for the steam- 
boat. 



MOONLIGHT UPON THE HUDSON. 59 

Bright DiAN, who, Camilla-like, dost skim yon 
Azure fields — Thou who, once earthward bending, 

Didst loose thy virgin zone to young Endymion, 
On dewy Latmos to his arms descending — 

Thou whom the world of old on every shore. 

Type of thy sex, Triformis, did adore : 

Tell me — where'er thy silver bark be steering. 
By bright Italian or soft Persian lands. 

Or o'er those island-studded seas careering, 

Whose pearl-charged waves dissolve on coral 
strands ; 

Tell if thou visitest, thou heavenly rover, 

A lovelier stream than this the wide world over ? 

Doth Achelous or Araxes flowing 

Twin-born from Pindus, but ne'er meeting bro- 
thers — 
Doth Tagus o'er his golden pavement glowing. 
Or cradle-freighted Ganges, the reproach of mo- 
thers, 
The storied Rhine, or far-famed Guadalquivir — 
Match they in beauty my own glorious river? 

What though no cloister gray nor ivied column 
Along these cliffs their sombre ruins rear ! 

What though no frowning tower nor temple solemn 
Of tyrants tell and superstition here — 

What though that mouldering fort's fast crumbling 
walls 

Did ne'er enclose a baron's banner'd halls — 



60 LAYS OF THE HUDSON. 

Its sinking arches once gave back as proud 
An echo to the war-blown clarion's peal, 

As gallant hearts its battlements did crowd 
As ever beat beneath a vest of steel, 

When herald's trump or knighthood's haughtiest day 

Call'd forth chivalric host to battle fray : 

For here amid these woods he once kept court 
Before whose mighty soul the common crowd 

Of heroes, who alone for fame have fought, 

Are like the patriarch's sheaves to heaven's chosen 
bow'd — 

He who his country's eagle taught to soar. 

And hred those stars which shine o'er every shore. 

And sights and sounds at which the world have 
wonder'd 
Within these wild ravines have had their birth ; 
Young Freedom's cannon from these glens have 
thunder'd, 
And sent their startling voices o'er the earth ; 
And not a verdant glade nor mountain hoary 
But treasures up within the glorious story. 

And yet not rich in high-soul'd memories only 
Is every moon-kiss'd headland round me gleaming, 

Each cavern 'd glen and leafy valley lonely. 

And silver torrent o'er the bald rock streaming ; 

But such soft fancies here may breathe around, 

As make Vaucluse and Clarens hallow'd ground. 



MOONLIGHT UPON THE HUDSON. 6 1 

Where, tell me where, pale watcher of the night — 

Thou that to love so oft has lent its soul, 

Since the lorn Lesbian languish'd 'neath thy light, 

Or fated Romeo to his Juliet stole — 
Where dost thou find a fitter place on earth 
To nurse young love in hearts like theirs to birth ? 

Oh, loiter not upon that fairy shore 

To watch the lazy barks in distance glide, 

When sunset brightens on their sails no more, 
And stern-lights twinkle in the dusky tide ; 

Loiter not there, young heart, at that soft hour, 

What time the Queen of Night proclaims love's 
power. 

Even as I gaze, upon my memory's track 
Bright as yon coil of light along the deep, 

A scene of early youth comes dream-like back. 
Where two stand gazing from the tide-wash'd steep, 

A sanguine stripling, just toward manhood flushing, 

A girl, scarce yet in ripen'd beauty blushing. 

The hour is his ! and while his hopes are soaring 
Doubts he that maiden will become his bride? 

Can she resist that gush of wild adoring 

Fresh from a heart full-volumed as the tide? 

Tremulous, but radiant, is that peerless daughter 

Of loveliness, as is the star-strown water ! 

The moist leaves glimmer as they glimmer'd then, 
Alas ! how oft have they been since renew'd, 

How oft the whippoorwill, from yonder glen, 
Each year has whistled to her callow brood, 



62 LAVS OF THE HUDSON. 

How oft have lovers by yon star's same gleam, 
Dream'd here of bliss — and waken'd from their 
dream ! 

But now, bright Peri of the skies, descending 
Thy pearly car hangs o'er yon mountain crest, 

And night, more nearly now each step attending. 
As if to hide thy envied place of rest, 

Closes at last thy very couch beside, 

A matron curtaining a virgin bride. 

Farewell ! Though tears on every leaf are starting. 
While through the shadowy boughs thy glances 
quiver, 

As of the good, when heavenward hence departing, 
Shines thy last smile upon the placid river. 

So — could I fling o'er glory's tide one ray — 

Would I too steal from this dark world away. 



K ACHE SCO. 

A LEGEND OF THE SOURCES OF THE HUDSON. 

He held him with his glittering eye. — Coleridge. 

L' ENVOY. 

THE fragile bark whereon the Indian traces 
Rude tokens of his path for other eyes. 
Sometimes outlasts the tree on which he places 
Anew the birchen scroll he thence had peeled, 
And while he wanders forth to other skies. 
Some curious Settler, ere his axe he wield. 



K A CHE SCO. 63 

The frail memorial careful bears away : — 
So I have freely traced a woodland lay, 
In lines as quaint as chart of forest child, 
Content, like him, if, passing on my way, 
I cheer some friendly heart in life's dull wild, 
A birchen scroll from birchen tree y'cleft, 
A trail of moccasin in wildering forest left. 



PART I.— "CAMPING OUT" 

I. 

'TwAS in the mellow autumn time. 
That revel of our masquing clime. 

When, as the Indian crone believes, 
The rainbow tints of Nature's prime 

She in her forest banner weaves \ 
To show, in that bright blazonry. 
How the young earth did first supply 
Each gorgeous hue that paints the sky, 

Or in the sunset billow heaves. 

II. 

'Twas in the mellow autumn time, 
When, from the spongy, swollen swamp, 

The lake a darker tide receives ; 
When nights are growing long and damp ; 
And at the dawn a glistering rime 

Is silver'd o'er the gaudy leaves ; 
When hunters leave their hill-side camp. 

With fleet hound some, the dun-deer rousing. 

In "still-hunt" some, to shoot him browsing; 



64 LAYS OF THE HUDSON. 

And close at night their forest tramp, 

Where the fat yearling scents their fire, 

And, new unto their murderous ways, 
Affrighted, feels his life expire 

As stupidly he stands at gaze. 

Where that wild crew sit late carousing. 

III. 

'Twas in the mellow autumn time, 
When I, an idler from the town. 

With gun and rod was lured to climb 

Those peaks where fresh the Hudson takes 
His tribute from an hundred lakes ; 

Lakes which the sun, though pouring down 

His mid-day splendors round each isle. 
At eventide so soon forsakes 

That you may watch his fading smile 

For hours around those summits glow 
When all is gray and chill below ; 

While, in that brief autumnal day 

Still, varying all in future, they 

Will yet some wilding beauty show. 

As through their watery maze you stray. 

IV. 

For he beholds, whose footfalls press 

The mosses of that wilderness. 
Each charm the glorious Hudson boasts 

Through his far-reaching strand — 
When, sweeping from these leafy coasts, 



KACHESCO. 65 

His mighty march he seaward takes — 
First pictured in those mountain lakes, 

All fresh from Nature's hand ! 
Lakes broadly flashing to the sun, 

Like warrior's shield when first display'd, 
Lakes, dark, as when, the battle done. 

That shield oft blackens in the glade. 
Round one that on the eye will ope 

With many a winding sunny reach, 
The rising hills all gently slope 

From turfy bank and pebbled beach. 
With rocks and ragged forests bound. 

Deep set in fir-clad mountain shade, 
You trace another, where resound 

The echoes of the hoarse cascade. 



V. 

Aweary with a day of toil, 
And all uncheer'd with hunter spoil. 
Guiding a wet and sodden boat, 

With thing, half paddle, half an oar,- 
I chanced, one murky eve, to float 
Along the grim and ghastly shore 
Of such wild water ; 
Past trees, some shooting from the bank,- 

With dead boughs dipping in the wave, 
And some with trunks moss-grown and dank, 
On which the savage, that here drank 
A thousand years ago, might grave 
His tale of slaughter. 
6 * 



66 LAVS OF THE HUDSON. 

VI. 

Peering amid these mouldering stems, 
Through thickets from their ruins starting, 

To spy a deer-track if I could, 
. I saw the boughs before me parting, 

Revealing what seemed two bright gems 
Gleaming from out the dusky wood ; 
And in that moment on the shore, 
Just where I brush' d it with my oar, 
An aged Indian stood ! 

VII. 

Nay ! shrink not, lady, from my tale. 

Because, erst moved by border story. 
Thy thoughtful cheek grew still more pale 

At images so dire and gory ; 
.Nor yet — grown colder since that day — 
Cry — half disdainful of my lay, 
*' An Indian ! — why, in theme so stale. 

There can be no new interest ! caji there ?- 
'Twas but some border vagrant gazing 
From thicket that your boat was grazing. 

And you — you took him for a panther !" 

Vlll. 

It was just so, and nothing more ; 

The deer-stand that I sought was here. 
Here too Kachesco came for deer j 
A civil Indian, seldom drunk. 
Who dragg'd my leaky skiff ashore. 
And pointed out a fallen trunk. 



KACHESCO. 67 

Where sitting I could spy the brink, 

Beneath the gently tilting branches, 
And shoot the buck that came to drink 

Or wash the black-flies from his haunches. 
With this he plunged into the wood, 

Saying he on the "run-way" knew 
Another stand, and quite as good 

If "but the night breeze fairly blew. 

IX. 

So there, like mummied sagamore, 

I crouch with senses fairly aching, 
To catch each sound by wood or shore 
Upon the twilight stillness breaking. 
I start ! that crash of leaves below 
A light hoof surely rattles ? — No ! 

From overhead a dry branch parted. 
A plash ! 'Tis but the wavelet tapping 
Yon floating log. The partridge drums ; 

With thrilling ears again I've started ; 
The booming sound at distance hums 
Like rushing herds. I start as though 

A gang of moose had caught me napping. 
And now my straining sight grows dim 
While nearer yet the night-hawks skim ; 
Well, "let the hart ungalled play," 
I'll think of sweet looks far away — 
But no ! I list and gaze about. 

My rifle to my shoulder clapping 
At leap of every rascal trout. 
Or lotus leaf the water flapping. 



68 LAVS OF THE HUDSON. 

I 

An hour went thus, without a sign 

Of buck or doe in range appearing ; 
The wind began to crisp the lake, 
The wolf to howl from out the brake, 
And I to think that boat of mine 

Had better soon be campward steering ; 
When near me, through the deepening night. 
Again I saw those eyes so bright, 

And as my swarthy friend drew nigher, 
I heard these words pronounced in tone, 
Lady, as silken as thine own, 

'' White man, we'd better make a fire." 

XI. 

Our kindling-stuff lay near at hand — 
Peelings of bark, some half uncoil'd 
In flakes, from boughs by age despoil' d. 

And some in shreds by rude winds torn ; 
Dead vines that round the dead trees clung ; 
Long moss that from their old arms swung, 
Tatter'd and stain'd — all weather-worn. 
Like funeral weeds hung out to dry. 
Or banners drooping mournfully : — 

These quickly caught the spark we fann'd. 
Branches, that once waved overhead, 
Now crisply crackling to our tread. 

Fed next the greedy flame's demand. 
Lastly a fallen trunk or two — 
Which from its weedy lair we drew, 
And o'er the blazing brushwood threw — 

For savory broil supplied the brand. 



KA CHE SCO. 69 

XII. 

Of hemlock fir we made our couch, 
A bed for cramps and colds consoling ; 

I had some biscuit in my pouch, 
A salmon-trout I'd kill'd in trolling; 
My comrade had some venison dried, 
And corn in bear's lard lately fried ; 

And on my word, I will avouch 
That when we would our stock divide 

In equal portions, save the last, 
Apicius could not deride 

The relish of that night's repast. 

XIII. 

We talk'd that night — I love to talk 

With these grown children of the wild, 
When in their native forest walk, 

Confiding, simple as a child. 
They lose at times that sullen mood 
Which marks the wanderer of the wood. 
And in that pliant hour will show 

As prodigal and fresh of thought 
As genius when its feelings flow 

In words by feeling only taught. 

XIV. 

And much he told of Afetai'^ lore ; 
Of Wabenos we call enchanters ; 

5^ Wizard. — See Notes on Indian Mythology at the end of 
the volume. 



70 LAYS OF THE HUDSON. 

Of water sprites called Nebanai — 
In floating logs oft packed away, 
As much at home on every shore 

As other ''spirits" in decanters. 
From him I learned of Nabozhoo,* 

The Harlequin of Indian story 
(A kind of half Deucalion, too, 

Who beats the Greek one in his glory) ; 
And of the pigmy Weeng, whose tap 

Upon the forehead, near one's peepers, 
Will make the liveliest hunter nap 

As soundly as The Seven Sleepers ; 
And of the huge Weendigo race 

(The Cyclopes of Red-skin fable). 
Whose housewives for their breakfast place 

A whole cooked Indian on the table. 

XV. 

Much of Pa-puck-wis too he said, 

The urchin god of fun and trickery, 
And other godlings by him led. 
And demons dancing on the head. 

As supple as a sapling hickory. 
And looking toward The Milky Way, 

Which he The Path of Spirits named. 
He told how half the soul would stay 
Around its early haunts to play, 

When God the other half had claimed ; 
And how all living Red men stand 
With half their shade in shadow land ; 
*For explanation of Indian names see notes on Kachesco. 



KA CHE SCO. yi 

And how all Life to Red men known 
Once walked in shapes just like our own ; 
And though doomed now as brutes to walk, 
How Spirits still to brutes will talk, 
And whisper blessed words of cheer 
From bush or tree they're browsing near. 
Saying that none at last shall go 
Down to the Fiend Machineto. 

XVI. 

We talk'd — 'twas next of fish and game, 
Of hunter arts to strike the quarry, 
Of portages and lakes whose name. 
As utter'd in his native speech, 
If memory could have hoarded each, 

A portage-labor 'twere to carry. 
Yet one whose length — it is a score 
Of miles perhaps in length, or more — 

'Tis glorious to troll, 
I can recall the name and feature 
From dull oblivion's scathe, 
Partly because in trim canoe 
I since have track'd it through and through. 
Partly that from this simple creature 
I heard that night a tale of faith 
Which moved my very soul. 

XVII. 

Yes, Inca-pah-co ! though thy name 
Has never flow'd in poet's numbers, 



72 LAYS OF THE HUDSON. 

And all unknown, thy virgin claim 
To wild and matchless beauty, slumbers ; 
Yet memory's pictures all must fade 

Ere I forget that sunset view 
When, issuing first from darksome glade 
A day of storms had darker made. 

Thy floating isles and mountains blue. 
Thy waters sparkling far away 
Round craggy point and verdant bay — 
The point with dusky cedars crown' d. 
The bay with beach of silver bound — 
Upon my raptured vision grew. 
Grew every moment, brighter, fairer, 

As I, at close of that wild day, 
Emerging from the forest nearer, 
Saw the red sun his glorious path 
Cleave through the storm-cloud's dying wrath. 

And with one broad triumphant ray 
Upon thy crimson' d waters cast, 
Sink warrior-like to rest at last. 

XVIII. 

And he who stands as then I stood 
By Inca-pah-co's glorious water, 

And gazes on the haunted flood 

Where long ago Kachesco wooed 
In early youth its Island daughter. 

And threads that island's solitude. 

Once witness of his loved one's slaughter. 

At that same season of the leaf 

In which I heard him tell his grief, 



XA CUE SCO. 73 

Will own 'mid autumn's wildest glory, 
The wilder tissue of that story, 
And fee] — while shuddering at the view 
Which, with each feature stern and true 
Of his relentless race he drew— 
Feel not yet wholly waste the mind 
Where Faith so deep a root could find : 
Faith which both love and life could save, 

And keep the first, in age still fond. 
Yet blossoming this side the grave, 

In fadeless trust of fruit beyond ! 



XIX. 

Long years had passed when I thus gazed, 
By Inca-pah-co's beauty dazed ; 
Long years and many a distant scene 
Of tamer life had come between, 
Since by that nameless mountain tarn 

I realized, a stripling stout. 

My first night's fun of " camping out," 
And listened to the Indian yarn 

I here am going to tell about ; 
Whose wampum beads, perchance astray, 
Had idly slipped, unstrung, away — 
Save now in coasting that bright shore 

Where Inca-pah-co's wavelets chime. 
The sounds that moved my soul of yore. 

The scene of our lone bivouac 

Came, each and all, as freshly back, 
Beneath the crisp October prime, 
7 



74 Z^KS* OF THE HUDSON. 

As springs by matted leaves choked up 
Which brighten in the hoof- stamped cup, 
Upon the Caribou's wild track. 

XX. 

Again Kachesco's face of truth 

I saw before my fancy move, 
Fixed as the memory of my youth. 

And sad as all it knew of love. 

Again, as chiller blew the blast. 
When he had ceased to speak that night — 

While I, still wakeful, pondered o'er 

His wondrous story more and more — 
I saw him moving in the light 

The fire which he was feeding cast ; 
Again his words were in my ear, 
As I'll repeat them simply here, 

And tell the tale from first to last. 

XXI. 

^'I like Lake Inca-pah-co well," 

Half mused aloud my wild-wood friend ; 
"Why, white man, I can hardly tell ! 
For fish and deer, at either end. 
The rifts are good ; but run-ways more 
There are by crooked Killoquore 
And Racquet at the time of spearing. 
As well as that for yarding moose. 
Hath both enough for hunter's use : 
Amid these hills are lakes appearing 



KACHESCO. 75 

More limpid to the Summer's eye; 
In some at night the stars will twinkle 

As if they dropp'd there from the sky 
The pebbled bed below to sprinkle ; 
I ply my paddle in them all — 

Of all, at times, a home have made — 

Yet, stranger, when I've thither stray'd 
I seem'd to hear the ripples fall 

Each time still sweeter than before 

On Inca-pah-co's winding shore." 

XXII. 

There was a sadness in his tone 

His careless words would fain disown ; 

Or rather I would say their touch 

Of mournfulness betray' d that much, 

Much more of deep and earnest feeling 

Was through his wither' d bosom stealing : 

For now far back in memory 

So much absorb' d he seem'd to be, 

I'd not molest his revery ; 

And when — in phrase I now forget — 

When I at last the silence broke, 
In the same train of musing yet. 

Watching awhile the wreathed smoke 
Curl from his lighted calumet, 

He thus aloud half pondering spoke : 

XXIII. 

"Years, years ago, when life was new. 
And long before there was a clearing 



76 LAYS OF THE HUDSON. 

Among these Adirondac Highlands, 

My sachem kept his best canoe 
On one of Inca-pah-co's islands — 
The largest which lies tow'rd the north, 
As you are through the Narrows veering— 
And there had reared his wigwam too. 



'^ A trapper now, with years o'erladen, 

He lived there with one only daughter, 
A gentle but still gamesome maiden, 
Who, I have heard, would venture forth. 
Venture upon the darkest night 
Across the broad and gusty water 
To climb that cliff upon the main. 

By some since call'd the maiden's rest. 
That foot save hers hath never press' d. 
And watch the camp-fire's distant light. 
Which told that she should see again 

Her hunter when the dawn was bright." 



XXIV. 

He paused — look'd down, then stirr'd the fire. 

He smiled — I did not like that smile, 
As leaning on his elbow nigher 

His bright eyes glared in mine the while. 
And I was glad that scrutiny o'er. 
When neither had misgivings more, 
While he, in earnest now at last, 
Reveal'd his memories of the past. 



KA CHE SCO. 77 

XXV. 

''White man, thy look is open, kind, 
Thou scornest not a tale of truth ! 
Should I in thee a mocker find, 

'Twould shame alike thy blood and youth. 
I trust thee ! well, now look upon 

This wither'd cheek and shrunken form ! 
Canst think, young man, /was the one 

For whom that maiden dared the storm ? 

Yes, often, till a tribesman came — 

It matters not to speak his name — 

A youth as tall, as straight, as I, 

As quick his quarry to descry, 

A hunter bold upon his prey 

As ever struck the elk at bay. 

— But thou shalt see him, if thou wilt 

Gaze on the wreck since made by guilt, — 
Where glints its crag-drip to the moon. 
And raves through soaking moss the Scroon, 
To where Peseco's waters lave 

Its shining strand and beach-clad hills, 
From hoarse Ausable's caverned wave 

To Saranac's most northern rills — 
These woods around, do they not know 
That doomed one's guilt, my sleepless woe? 

Know it in every glen and glade 

Of Adirondac's haunted shade. 
Where branches bend or waters flow ! 

XXVI. 

"Oft in that barren hollow, where 
Through moss-hung hemlocks blasted, there 
7* 



;8 LAYS OF THE HUD SON. 

Whirl the dark rapids of Yowhayle ; 
Oft, too, by Teoratie blue, 

And where the silent wave that slides 
Tessuya's cedar islets through, 
Cahogaronta's cliff divides 
In foam through deep Kurloonah's vale — 
Where great Tahawus splits the sky, 

Where Borrhas greets his melting snows. 
By those linked lakes that shining lie 

Where Metauk's whispering forest grows - 
From Nessingh's sluggish waters, red 
With alder roots that line their bed, 
To where, through many a grassy vlie, 

The winding Atatea flows ; 
And from Oukorla's glistening eye 
To hoary Wahopartenie, 

As still from spot to spot we fled, 
How often his despairing sigh. 
How oft his hoarse, half-muttered cry 
The very air has thickened 
On which his fruitless prayer was sped ! 
Where naked Ounowarlah towers ; 
Where Sandanona's shadows float ; 
Where wind-swept Nodoneyo lowers, 

And in that gorge's quaking throat, 
Reft by Otneyarh's giant band. 

Where splinters of the mountain vast, 
Though lashed by cable roots, aghast, 
Toppling amid their ruin, stand ; 
Through Reuna's hundred isles of green, 
By Onegora's pebbly pools ; 



KACHESCO. 

Where Paskungamah's birches lean, 

And where, through many a dark ravine, 

The triple crown of crags is seen 

By which grim Towaloondah rules — 

By Gwi-endauqua's bristling fall, 

Through Twen-ungasko's echoing glen. 
To wild Ouluska's inmost den, 

Alone — alone with that poor thrall, 

I wrestled life away in all !" 

XXVI I. 

Breathless, he paused, while vaguely stirred 

By theme, as yet, all dark to me, 
I thrilled beneath each savage word 

That from his throat came savagely. 
But now some softer memories make 

That tawny bosom heave and swell, 
As, gazing far into the night. 
He rivets there his aching sight. 
Nor will again his tale forsake. 

Till there's no more to tell. 

PART II.— THE VIGIL OF FAITH. 
I. 

"Bright Nulkah, doe-eyed forest girl ! 
Oh ! still in dreams those evening skies 
Bend over me as soft as when, 
Born to a faith first plighted then, 
We silent sought each other's eyes 
To read their spirit mysteries: 
Then watched the lake's low ripples curl, 



80 LAVS OF THE HUDSON. 

Then sought each other's eyes again, 
Then looked around on crag and hill, 
Looked on each shadowy tree so still. 
Looked on them each and all to see 
All — all was real, Earth — Love and we. 

II. 
" I round her neck the wampum threw, 

String after string she kissed them each, 
And parting at the water's edge 
When I had launched my light canoe. 

Unwilling yet to leave the beach. 

But poised upon a fallen tree 

I long could see the holy pledge, 
Pressed to her heart or waved to me : 
Could see it glimmer in the dew 

Yet — yet again from rocky ledge. 
When, after the first head-land cast 
My boat in shadow as I pass'd. 
Again across the moonlit bay, 
Slie saw my glistening paddle play 
And gave me back one answering ray. 

III. 
''Ah ! bounding then the broad lake over. 
What vigor to my arm love gave ! 
What life, fresh life to every wave, 

That buoy'd up my Nulkah's lover ! 
And sadly as she left me there, 
How much of sweetness was to spare 
For her who soon would climb the cliff. 
To vainly watch my coming skiff, 



KA CHE SCO. 81 



Would toiling gain the rugged height, 
To suffer all love's sadness where 

It came unmixed with love's delight 
And seemed the herald of Despair ! 

IV. 

" I sent to her — I sent a friend, 

The chosen one of all our band, 
With whom my heart was wont to blend 

Like those which mate in spirit land. 
From Sacandaoa's fountain head 

Where in our camp I fevered lay, 
Through Nushiona's vale he sped, 

And gained her home at close of day. 
Beside her father's fire he slept — 

It was too late to speak that night, 
And when my Nulk_\h's beauty first 
Upon him with the morning burst, 

He had no tongue to speak aright, 
And still my message from her kept — 

Kept back love's message day by day 

Till sullen weeks had worn away. 
While lonely Nulkah often wept. 



'^Nay, more, when she would cross the wave 
At midnight in the wildest weather. 

While tempests round the peak would rave 

From which she watch' d for nights together. 



82 LAVS OF THE HUDSON. 

He told — that tribesman whom I loved, 

Yes, loved as if he were my brother — 
He told her that the woods I roved 

To feed the lodge where dwelt another 
Another who now cherish' d there 
The child that claim'd a hunter's care ; 
Claim'd it upon some distant shore, 
From which I would return no more. 



VI. 

'* All this in her had wrought no change. 

No anxious doubt, no jealous fear. 
But he, meanwhile, had words most strange 

Breathed in my gentle Nulkah's ear. 

Which made her wish that I were near : 
Words strange to her, who, simple, true. 
And only love as prosperous knew. 

Shrank from the fitful fantasy. 
Which, seeming less like love than hate. 

Would cloud his moody brow when he. 
Gazing on her, arraigned the fate 
Which could such loveliness create 

Only to work him misery. 
And when she heard that lying tale. 

Her woman's heart could soon discover 
Some double treachery might assail, 

Through him, her unsuspecting lover ; 
And Love in fear, still fearless, brought her 
On errand Love in hope first taught her. 



KACHESCO. 83 

VII. 

"I came at last. She ask'd me naught — 

It was enough to see me there ; 
But of the friend who thus had wrought, 
Though he now streams far distant sought, 

She bade me in the wood beware. 
A wound my coming had delay' d, 

And still too weak to use my gun, 
I set the nets the old chief made ; 

Baited his traps in forest glade; 

And sweetly after woo'd the maid, 
At evening when my toils were done. 

VIII. 

" 'Twas then I chose a grassy swale, 

In which my wigwam frame to make ; 

Shelter' d by crags from northern gale, 

Shaded by boughs, save toward the lake. 
The Red-bird's nest above it swung ; 
There often the Ma-ma-twa sung ; 
And Moning-gwuna's quills of gold 
Through leaves like flickering sunshine told ; 
There, too, when Spring was backward, first, 
Her shrinking blossoms safely burst ; 
And there, when autumn leaf was sere. 
Some flowers still stay'd the loitering year. 

IX. 

** She learn' d full soon to love the spot. 
For who could see and love it not? 



84 LAVS OF THE HUDSON. 

Why, Morning there had newer splendor, 
There, Twilight seemed to grow more tender, 
And Moonbeams first would thither stray, 
To light PuCKWUDjEES to their play. 
A.nd there, when I the isle would leave. 

And sometimes now my gun resume. 
She'd shyly steal the mats to weave 

Which were to line our bridal room. 
Happy we were ! what love like ours. 
Blossoming thus as fresh and free, 
As unrestrain'd as wild-wood flowers, 
Yet keeping all their purity ! 



^' Happy we were ! my secret foe. 
How dread a foe, I knew not then, 

Remain'd to fish the streams below 

That into Cadaraqui flow. 
Returning to us only when 
Some kinsmen on our bridal morn, 
Impell'd by a mysterious doom 
Which with that fateful man was born, 

Brought him to shroud the day in gloom 
And blast our joys about to bloom. 

XI. 

''Just Manitou ! Oh may the boat 
That bears him to the spirit land 

For ages on those black waves float 

Which catch no light from off its strand, 



K A CHE SCO. 85 

Float blindly there, still laboring on 

Toward shores 'tis never dooni'd to reach ; 
Float there till time itself is gone, 

And when again 'twould seek the beach 
From which with that lone soul it started, 

Baffling let that before it flee, 
Till hope of rest hath all departed, 
And still when that last hope is gone, 
A guideless thing, float on, float on ! 

XII. 

"The birds of song had sunk to rest ; 

The eagle's tireless wing was furl'd ; 
On Inca-pah-co's darkening breast 

The last few golden ripples curl'd : 
The distant mountains, bright before. 
Now seem'd to darken more and more 

Against the eastern sky ; 
Until a white pine's slender cone, 
Tapering above the hill-top, shone, 
And show'd the moon was nigh. 
Our friends, they all stood gravely round, 
Waiting until that moon should rise, 
The bridal moon whose aspect crown'd, 
For good or ill, our destinies : 
The signal too, the hour had come. 
When I could claim my bride and home. 

XIII. 

"Blushing at that fast-brightening sky. 
When on her father's lodge it shone, 

8 



86 LAYS OF THE HUDSON. 

How did she shrink within, when I 

Would lead that loved one to my own ! 
Forth stepp'd e'en then that dismal guest 
Who grimly stood amid the rest, 

And, while his knife he drew, 
With cry that made us all aghast. 
And frantic gesture, hurrying past. 

He sprang the threshold through. 

XIV. 

*' A shriek ! and I with soul of flame 

Devour' d the fearful space between : 
Another and another came 

E'en while my grip was on his throat. 

Where, writhing in the dark unseen, 
His victim in her gore did float ! 
And life was oozing through each wound 

That gash'd her lovely form about, 
When, hurling him upon the ground, 

I bore her to the light without. 

XV. 

*' Aided by that untimely beam. 

Which harbinger'd such bridal woes, 
I watch'd its ebbing current gleam. 
And, watching, would not, could not, deem 
That blessed life's too precious stream 
Growing each moment darker, colder. 
E'en while I to my heart did fold her. 
Already at its close. 



K ACHE SCO. 87 

She tried to speak — then press'd my hand, 
And look'd — oh, look'd into my eyes 
As if through them the spirit-land 
Would first upon her vision rise : 
As if her soul, that could not stay, 
Through mine might only pass away. 

XVI. 

*' I know not when that look did fade, 

Nor when did fail that dying grasp. 
Nor how they loosed the lifeless maid. 

Stiffening within love's desperate clasp. 
The sod upon her grave was green, 

The leaflet greening on the oak, 
The autumn and the winter o'er. 

When I once more to sense awoke, — 
Awoke to know some joys had b6en 

Which now to me could be no more ; 
Awoke to know that life to me 
Was henceforth but d, girdled ix^Q 
Whose tough limbs still must bide the blast 
Until the trunk to earth be cast, 
Though fruit nor blossom ne'er can smile 
Upon those wrestling limbs the while. 

XVII. 

*' He still was there, that youth accurst, 

Who thus through blood his end had sought, 

He who, with frenzied love athirst, 

Such wreck of loveliness had wrought. 



88 LAYS OF THE HUDSON. 

He still was there, for while I breathed, 
With sense and feeling almost gone — 

The aged father, thus bereaved, 

Raving the wretch should still live on — 
Of all our friends there was not one 

Would deal the vengeance they believed 
'Twas mine on him to wreak alone. 

XVIII. 

" He still was there. 'Twas he that kept 
A nurse's watch while thus I slept: 

Ever and ever by my side, 
With anxious eye and noiseless tread, 
Hanging about my fever' d bed. 

With none he would his task divide : 
Trembling, with jealous fear afraid, 

When near the grave I seem'd to hover. 
Lest that bright land which claim'd the maid 

Was opening too upon her lover. 

XIX. 

'^ And now, when, no more languishing. 

My mind and strength became renew'd, 
Amid the balmy airs of spring. 

And I once more eould take the wood ; 
Think you he fear'd the bloody fate 
Which blood will alway expiate ? 
Oh no ! he look'd too far before — 
Look'd far beyond this fleeting shore, 
Where bliss will die as soon as born ! 



KA CHE SCO. 89 

He hoped, he blindly trusted, he, 

That on the instant that I woke 
Revenge would be so fierce in me, 

I'd madly deal some deathful stroke, 
Would send his soul where hers was gone ! 

XX. 

''But I — I knew too well his guile, 
'Twas whisper'd me in dreams the while, 
I saw a form about my bed, 
That alway shrunk from him with dread : 
'Twould come by night, 'twould come by day. 
But clearest in the moonbeam show, 
Then ever, as it nearer drew 
Ere melting from my wistful view. 
With palm reversed, it seem'd to say, 

'If yet thou wilt not with me go. 
Keep him — oh keep but hh7i away /' 

XXI. 

"And did I not? ay, while the knell 
Of youth and hope yet echo'd by. 
Did I not then allay thy fears. 
Perturbed soul, that his was nigh ? 

And o'er the waste of dreary years. 
On which, heart-wither'd, doom'd to dwell, 
I look with weary vision back — 
Have I not on that desert track. 
Sweet spirit, kept love's vigil well? 

Oh have I not ? Yes — though no more 
I see at night those moon-touch'd fingers, 
Still beckoning as they did of yore ; 

8* 



90 LAVS OF THE HUDSON. 

And though the features of my love, 
As near me still in dreams she lingers, 

Look bright, as yon bright star above. 
And peaceful, as in that blest time, 
When our young loves were in their prime — 
I know that from the land of shades. 
When wandering thus to haunt these glades, 
The vigil to her soul is dear 
I kept, and still am keeping here ! 
— Enough of this, thou still wouldst know 
How dealt I with my mortal foe. 

XXII. 

'' The stag that snuffs the breeze of morn 

Where first it lifts the birchen spray. 
Gazing on lakes all newly born 

From valley, mists that roll away, 
Treads not the upland fern more free. 

Looks not with eye more bright below, 
Than moved and look'd that man, when he 
Strode forth and stood beneath the tree 

To bide my avenging hatchet's blow : 
The crestless doe, whose faint limbs sink 

Beside the rill to which they bore her — 
Life-stricken on its very brink 
That instant when she'd gasping drink 

From the bright wave that leaps before her- 
Lies not more lowly and forlorn. 

All stretch' d upon the forest leaves. 
Than near the tree that Outcast lay. 
When, by my gleaming hatchet shorn, 



KA CHE SCO. 91 

His warrior-tuft is cleft away, 

And he the living doom receives 
To wander thus where'er he may — 
Of woman and of man the scorn ! 

XXIII. 

"A month went by; the wigwam-smoke 

No more from that cold hearth ascended, 
Where the old chief no longer woke 

To woes that with his life were ended : 
A month, and that deserted isle 

Was left alone to me and her / 
The summer had begun to smile, 

The winds of June the leaves to stir ; 
And flowers that budded late the while, 

To bloom above her sepulchre ; 

Meek, pallid things, grave-nursed below, 

That feebly there as yet would grow, 

Brighter in coming years to blow — 

And where was he whose fell despair 

The Flower of Love laid bleeding there? 

XXIV. 

''Shooting from out the leafy land. 

Right opposite our island home. 
There was a narrow neck of sand. 
O'er which the wave on either hand 

Would fling at times its crest of foam. 
And here — as I one morning stood 

Upon a rock which faced that beach — 
I saw, wild rushing from the wood;, 

Within my loaded rifle's reach, 



92 LAVS OF THE HUDSON. 

A figure that distracted ran 

Until it gain'd the frothy marge, 

And there an unarm'd, kneeling man 

Bared his broad bosom to my charge ! 

XIV. 

'* I stood, but did not raise the gun — 

Although it rattled in my grasp — 
I stood and coldly look'd upon 

The suppliant, who still lower bent, 
His hands in agony did clasp, 
As if the soul within him pent 
Would rend its penal tenement. 
At last, with low half smother' d cry 

And quivering frame, he gain'd his feet, 
And to the woods began to fly, 

Growing at every step more fleet : 
But from that hour, tvhere' er he fled, 
There too my shadow darkened! 

XXVI. 

*' One moment was enough to bind 

Firmly my weapons on my head, 
The strait was swum, and far behind 

The crested waves effaced my tread 
Upon the beach, o'er which I sped 
So swiftly that the forest glade 
At once the wanderer's trail betray'd ; 
And though it led o'er rocky ledge. 
Led oft within the pool's black edge, 
'Twas soon reveal' d anew — 



KA CHE SCO. 93 

The springy moss just crisping back 
I saw upon his recent track, 
Nor paused to trace it in the brook, 
Whose alders still behind him shook 
Where he had bounded through. 

XXVII. 

"And — when again the stream he cross'd, 
Where, in its forks, awhile I lost 

His trail amid the maze 
Of severing rills, and run-ways wound 
About the deer lick's trampled ground — 
The very living things around, 
Which in these forest-depths abound, 
The sable darting from the fern, 
The gliding ermine, each in turn, 

His whereabout betrays ; 
From plunging beaver's warning stroke, 
From wood-duck whirring from the oak. 
And screaming loon, alike I learn 

Where lead the wanderer's ways. 

XXVIII. 

" At length within a broken dell, 
Where a gnarl'd beech the tempest shock 
Had parted from the leaning rock, 
Among its cable roots, he fell ; 

Where, panting, soon I saw him lie, 
wShrivelling against the blasted trunk, 

With knees drawn up and cowering eye. 
As if my avenging tread had shrunk 

The miscreant there as I drew nigh. 



94 LAVS OF THE HUDSON. 

I spoke not — but I gazed upon 
That wolf with fangs and courage gone, 
Gazed on his quailing features till 

Their furtive glance was fix'd by mine, 
And I could see his writhing will 

Her feeble throne to me resign. 

XXIX. 

''He rose, an abject, broken man. 
He dared not fight — he dared not fly ; 

His very life in my veins ran. 
Who would not let him cast it by I 
And still he is the thing that then 
He wilted to within that glen : 

Living — if life be drawing breath — 
But dead in all that last should die. 

For him there is no further death 
Till from the earth he withereth. 

XXX. 

*' I hunt for him — I dress his food, 
I guide his footsteps in the wood. 

Or, when alone for game I'd beat, 

Direct where we at night shall meet. 

He cleans my arms — my snow-shoes makes ; 

He bales my shallop on the lakes ; 

And when with fishing spear I glide 

At midnight o'er the silent tide, 

'Tis he who holds the pine-knot torch, 
That seems her blazing path to scorch 

Where waves o'er reddening shoals divide. 



KA CHE SCO. 95 

XXXI. 

'*With me he now is ahvay meek, 

But sometimes, chafing in his thrall, 
He to my dog will sharply speak, 

Who comes, or comes not at his call. 
They both are in my camp below. 

From which I now in hunting weather 
For days can often safely go. 

Leaving the two alone together. 
But in those years my watch began 

His limbs were agile as my own. 
And sometimes then the tortured man 

For weeks beyond my search hath flown, 

In shades more deep to breathe alone. 

XXXII. 

" But ever when he thus would flee. 

Flee from himself as well as me. 

Some hollow trunk or swampy lair 

Betrayed his bowlings of despair. 

As near the she-wolf ceased her moan 

To listen to his dreaming groan, 

Or, scared from perch on dead branch by, 

The fish-hawk caught his sharper cry. 

When light that waked from seeming pain 

Brought back the living sense again. 

And sometimes then with strange dismay, 

Flinging a frantic look around. 
He from the "windfall's" ghastly fray 

Of uptorn trunks would shrieking bound, 



96 LAVS OF THE HUDSON. 

As if from their convulsion grew 
Some shape to his distracted view, 
Some hideous shape his soul first caught 
l^rom havoc there by Nature wrought ! 
Then shivering in each limb with dread, 
As o'er the quaking bog he fled, 
And, flying toward it, still afraid 
To reach again the forest shade, 
He joyed that even I was near 
To soothe him in his mortal fear. 

XXXIII. 

''Again, when in his wildest mood, 

He would some mystic power obey. 
Which from that island's haunted wood 

Ne'er let him wander far away. 
And alway soon or late I could 
Steal on him in his solitude : 
While oft, as weaker grew his brain, 
And he forgot God's law of blood, 
I've track' d the poor bewilder' d thing, 
Wherever he was famishing ; 
And snatched him o'er and o'er again 

From death he sought by fell and flood. 

XXXI v. 

"Sometimes, when wintry snows were deep, 
And game was scarce within our range, 

When near our camp 'twere death to keep, 
Yet lacked we strength our camp to change 



KACHESCO. 97 

Compel!' d, in search of food, to creep 

Through smothering drift and snowy surge, 
We'd starving sink in snow to sleep, 

Through sleet the morrow to emerge — 
My arms around him I would bind, 
To shield him from the wintry wind. 
And still his hand close clutching, hold 

When through the morrow's whirling blast 
Our languid steps were tottering told. 

Where ice some dizzy ledge had glass'd, 
And reeling 'neath the tempest's breath. 
Our pinch'd-up limbs trod near to death. 
Then, lest his soul should slip away 
That night from his half-torpid clay, 

I'd warm against my breast his feet, 
And constant wake to feel if heat 
Of life still in his pulses beat. 



XXXV. 

"And when spring thaws dissolved the snow, 

And, loosened from their ancient stay. 
In mass, dissevered at a blow. 
Old trees and root -inwoven ground 
With rocks and ice together bound. 

Would plunging crash their headlong way, 
And scatter waste and ruin wide 
Far down the mountain's riven side — 
As then our wild-wood track would go 
Across the swollen torrent's flow, 
9 



98 LAYS OF THE HUDSON. 

Often, ere this, my frail canoe 

Upon the freshet's foam has toss'd, 
Where splintered ice would thunder through 

The roaring gulf which I have crossed 
To bridge for him the tide below. 
And ever then my voice has lent 

Fresh vigor to his trembling knee, 
As shrinking he before me went, 
Appalled to hear the surges hiss 

So close beneath the slippery tree, 
That tottering spanned the dread abyss. 



xxxvi. 

**When summer drought has parched the ground. 
And crisped the dusty leaves around. 

Encircled by the forest fire. 
And gasping in its blinding smoke. 

My bleeding way through walls of brier, 
Half stifled, I have desperate broke. 

And dragged him to some lonely peak. 
Where o'er his prostrate form I stood. 
And watched the Flaming Spirit wreak 
His wrath each moment nigher — nigher — 
Have watched him whirling through the wood. 
Resistless in each angry coil. 
Now scorching up the brush beneath. 
Shrivelling alike both root and soil. 
Now fastening on some hoary pine, 
And vomiting his burning breath 
On writhing limbs through which he'd twine — 



K ACHE SCO. 99 

Darting aloft his crimson tongue 
The sharply crackling boughs among, 
Until the crag round which he swept, 
The crag where our last hold we kept. 
One blazing pyre of light became. 
An islet in a sea of flame. 
There, bending oft that faint wretch over — 
His body with my own to cover — 
There, while the moss whereon he lay 
In blistered flakes would peel away. 
Between him and the flames I cast 
My form, until the peril passed. 

XXXVII. 

"And thus as crowding seasons changed. 
When many a year was dead and gone, 

I round these lakes in manhood ranged, 
Where yet in age I wander on, 

And still o'er that poor slave I've kept 
A vigil that hath never slept; 

And while upon this earth I stay. 

From her I'll still keep him away — 

From her whom I at last shall see 

My own, my own eternally ! 

XXXVIII. 

" White man ! I say not that they lie 

AVho preach a faith so dark and drear 

That wedded hearts in yon cold sky 
Meet not as they were mated here. 



lOO LAYS OF THE HUDSON. 

But scorning not thy faith, thou must, 
Stranger, in mine have equal trust : 
The Red man's faith by Him implanted. 
Who souls to both our races granted. 
Thou know'st in life we mingle not. 
Death cannot change our different lot ! 
He who hath placed the White man's heaven 
Where hymns on vapory clouds are chanted, 
To harps by angel fingers play'd ; 
Not less on his Red children smiles 
To whom a land of souls is given, 
Where in the ruddy west array'd 
Brighten our blessed hunting isles. 



XXXIX. 

*' There souls again to youth are born, 
A youth that knows no withering ! 
There, blithe and bland, the breeze of morn 

Fresheneth an eternal Spring 
'Mid trees, and flowers, and waterfalls, 
And fountains bubbling from the moss, 
And leaves that quiver with delight, 
As from their shade the warbler calls. 
Or choiring, glances to the light 
On wings which never lose their gloss: 
There brooks that bear their buds away. 
From branches that will bend above them, 
So closely they could not but love them, 
To the same bowers again will stray 

From which at first they murmuring sever, 



KACHESCO. lOI 

Still floating back their blossoms to them, 

Still with the same sweet music ever, 
Returning yet once more to woo them j 

There love, like bird and brook and blossom, 

Is young for ever in each bosom ! 

XL. 

'' Those blissful Islands of the West : 

I've seen, myself, at sunset time, 
The golden lake in which they rest; 
Seen too, the barks that bear The Blest 
Floating toward that fadeless clime : 
First dark, just as they leave our shore. 
Their sides then brightening more and more. 
Till in a flood of crimson light 
They melted from my straining sight. 
And she, who climb' d the storm-swept steep. 

She who the foaming wave would dare, 
So oft love's vigil here to keep. 

Stranger, albeit thou think'st I dote, 
I know, I know she watches there ! 
Watches upon that radiant strand, 

Watches to see her lover's boat 
Approach The Spirit-Land." 



102 LAYS OF THE HUDSON. 



Rhymes on West Point 

I'VE trod thy mountain paths, thy valleys deep, 
Through mazy thickets, and through tangled 
heath ; 
I've climb'd thy piled up rocks, from steep to steep. 
And gazed with rapture on the scene beneath. 

The noble plain that lies embosom' d there. 
The jutting headlands in thy mimic bay — • 

The stream, impatient of his curb'd career, 
Sweeping through mighty mountains far away, 

His bosom burnish'd by the setting sun. 
Who, loath to leave his own illumined west. 

Dyes with his hues the waves he shines upon. 
And gilds the clouds which cradle him to rest. 

I love West Point, and long could fondly dwell 
On scenes which must through life my memory 
haunt, 

But you, too, reader, have been there as well 
As I — if not, you'd better take the jaunt. 

You rise at six and by half after ten 

You're at the Point — I was when last I went — 

You rest awhile at Cozzens's, and then 
May stroll toward the upper Monument. 

At two you dine (you'll think it not too soon, 
Being sharp set from your long morning's ramble), 



RHYMES ON WEST POINT. IO3 

And to Fort Putnam in the afternoon, 

O'er rocks and brushwood up the mountain 
scramble. 

The view which this majestic height commands 
Repays the trouble of its rough access ; 

For he beholds, who on the rampart stands, 
A scene of grandeur and of loveliness : 

The chain of mountains, sweeping far away — 
The white encampment spread beneath his feet — 

The sloop, slow dropping down the placid bay, 
Her form reflected in its glassy sheet. 

And where the river's banks less boldly swell. 
Villas upon some sunny slope are seen ; 

And white huts buried in some wooded dell, 

With chimneys peering through their leafy screen. 

'Tis sweet to watch from hence at close of day, 
While shadows lengthen on the mountain side, 

The sunbeams steal from peak to peak away. 
And white sails gleam along the dusky tide. 

And sweet to woman's eye, at evening hour. 
The gay parade that animates the plain. 

When martial music lends its kindling power, 
To thrill the bosom with some stirring strain— 

Who, when they to their gleaming ranks repair, 
Delight to gaze upon the bright array 



104 LAVS OF THE HUDSON. 

Of young, good-looking fellows marshall'd there 
In pigeon-breasted coats of iron-gray. 

For girls the glare of warlike pomp adore, 

Since, cased in steel, with lance and curtle-axe gHj 

Bold Coeur-de-Lion led his knights to war, 
Down to the days of Major-General Jackson. 

At night, when home returning, it is sweet, 
While stars are twinkling in the fields above, 

And whispering breezes in the foliage meet, 
To move in such a scene with one we love. 

To feel the spell of woman's witchery near. 
And while the magic o'er our senses steals. 

Believe the being whom we hold most dear. 
As deeply as ourselves that moment feels. 

The dolphin's hues are brightest while he dies. 
The rainbow's glories in their birth decay. 

And love's bright visions, like our autumn skies, 
Will fade the soonest when they seem most gay. 

In "true love" now I am an arrant skeptic, 
My heart's best music is for ever hush'd ; 

Perhaps because I'm briefless and dyspeptic, 

Perhaps my hopes were once too rudely crush'd. 

But to return — to lawyerling too poor, 
Leaving his duns and office to a friend, 

To take the northern or the eastern tour, 
This short excursion I will recommend. 



THE FOREST CEMETERY. IO5 

'Tis but two dollars and a day bestow'd, 
And far from town, its dust and busy strife, 

You'll find the jaunt a pleasing episode 
In the dull epic of a city life. 



w 



The Forest Cemetery. 

I. 

ILD Tawasentha I"^ in thy brook-laced glen 



The doe no longer lists her lost fawn's bleat- 
ing, 
As panting there, escaped from hunter's ken. 

She hears the chase o'er distant hills retreating ; 
No more, uprising from the fern around her, 

The Indian archer, from his ''still-hunt " lair. 
Wings the death-shaft which hath that moment found 
her 
When Fate seemed foiled upon her footsteps there : 

II. 

Wild Tawasentha ! on thy cone-strew' d sod. 
O'er which yon Pine his giant arm is bending, 

No more the Mohawk marks its dark crown nod 
Against the sun's broad disk toward night descend- 



* Tawasentha, meaning in Mohawk " The place of the 
many dead," is the finely appropriate name of the new Forest 
Cemetery on the banks of the Hudson, between Albany and 
Troy. 



I06 LAYS OF THE HUDSON. 

Then crouching down beside the brands that redden 
The columned trunks which rear thy leafy dome, 

Forgets his toils in hunter's slumbers leaden, 
Or visions of the Red Man's spirit home : 

HI. 

But where his calumet by that lone fire, 

At night beneath these cloister' d boughs was 
lighted, 
The Christian orphan will in prayer aspire. 

The Christian parent mourn his proud hope 
blighted ; 
And in thy shade the mother's heart will listen 

The spirit-cry of babe she clasps no more. 
And where thy rills through hemlock branches glisten, 

There many a maid her lover will deplore. 

IV. 

Here children linked in love and sport together. 

Who check their mirth as creaks the slow hearse 
by, 
Will totter lonely in life's autumn weather. 

To ponder where life's springtime blossoms lie ; 
And where the virgin soil was never dinted 

By the rude ploughshare since creation's birth. 
Year after year fresh furrows will be printed 

Upon the sad cheek of the grieving earth. 



Yon sun, returning in unwearied stages. 
Will gild the cenotaph's ascending spire 



THE FOREST CEMETERY. 10/ 

O'er names on history's yet unwritten pages 

That unborn crowds will, worshipping, admire ; 

Names that shall brighten through my country's story 
Like meteor hues that fire her autumn woods, 

Encircling high her onward course of glory 

Like the bright bow which spans her mountain 
floods. 

VI. 

Here where the flowers had bloomed and died for 
ages — 

Bloomed all unseen and perished all unsung — 
On youth's green grave, traced out beside the sage's, 

Will garlands now by votive hearts be flung ; 
And sculptured marble and funereal urn. 

O'er which gray birches to the night air wave, 
Will whiten through thy glades at every turn. 

And woo the moonbeam to some poet's grave ! 



VII. 

Thus back to Nature, faithful, do we come. 

When Art hath taught us all her best beguiling — 
Thus blend their ministry around the tomb 

Where pointing upward still sits Nature smiling ! 
And never, Nature's hallowed spots adorning, 

Hath Art with her a sombre garden dress'd. 
Wild Tawasentha ! in this vale of mourning. 

With more to consecrate their children's rest. 



I08 LAVS OF THE HUDSON 

VIII. 

And still that stream will hold its winsome way, 

Sparkling as now upon the frosty air, 
When all in turn shall troop in pale array 

To that dim land for which so few prepare. 
Still will yon oak which now a sapling waves. 

Each year renewed, with hardy vigor grow. 
Expanding still to shade the nameless graves 

Of nameless men that haply sleep below. 

IX. 

Nameless as they, — in one dear memory blest. 

How tranquil in these phantom peopled bowers 
Could I here wait the partner of my rest 

In some green nook, that should be only ours : 
Under old boughs, where moist the livelong summer 

The moss is green and springy to the tread. 
Where thou, my friend, shouldst be an often comer 

To pierce the thicket, seeking for my bed : 

X. 

For thickets heavy all around should screen it 

From careless gazer that might wander near, 
Nor e'en to him who by some chance had seen it 

Would I have aught to catch his eye appear : 
One lonely stem — a trunk those old boughs lifting. 

Should mark the spot ; and, haply, new thrift owe 
To that which upward through its sap was drifting 

From what lay mouldering round its roots below. 



THE FOREST CEMETERY. IO9 

XI. 

The Wood-duck there her glossy-throated brood 

Should unmolested gather to her wings ; 
The schoolboy, awed, as near that mound he stood. 

Should spare the Redstart's nest that o'er it swings, 
And thrill, when there, to hear the cadenc'd winding 

Of boatman's horn upon the distant river, 
Dell unto dell in long-link'd echoes binding — 

Like far-off requiem, floating on for ever. 

XII. 

There my freed spirit with the dawn's first beaming 

Would come to revel round the dancing spray ; 
There would it linger with the day's last gleaming, 

To watch thy footsteps thither track their way. 
The quivering leaf should whisper in that hour 

Things that for thee alone would have a sound, 
And parting boughs my spirit-glances shower 

In gleams of light upon the mossy ground. 

XIII. 

There, when long years and all thy journeyings over, 

Loosed from this world thyself to join the free. 
Thou too wouldst come to rest beside thy lover 

In that sweet cell beneath our Tr) sting-Tree ; 
Where earliest birds above our narrow dwelling 

Should pipe their matins as the morning rose. 
And woodland symphonies majestic swelling. 

In midnight anthem, hallow our repose. 
10 



Love Poems. 



Love Poems. 



LoVE'S CALENDAR; OR, EROS AND 

Anteros. 

Love, with the ancient sages, if it be not twin-born, yet 
hath a brother wondrous like him, called Anteros; whom 
while he seeks all about, his chance is to meet with many 
false and feigning desires that wander singly up and down in 
his likeness. By them, in their borrowed garb, is Love often 
deceived ; partly that his eye is not the quickest in this dark 
region here below (which is not love's proper sphere), partly 
out of the simplicity and credulity which is native to him, 
and embraces and consorts him with those suborned striplings, 
as if they were his mother's own sons. But after awhile, 
soaring above the shadow of the earth, he discerns that this 
is not his genuine brother, as he imagined; he has no longer 
the power to hold fellowship with such a personate mate. 
For that original and fiery virtue given him, by fate, all on a 
sudden goes out, and leaves him undeified and despoiled of 
all his force ; till finding Anteros at last, he kindles and re- 
pairs the almost faded ammunition of his deity, by the reflec- 
tion of a coequal and homogeneal fire. — MiLTON. 



THEY are mockery all — those skies, those skies- 
Their untroubled depths of blue ; 
They are mockery all — these eyes, these eyes, 
Which seem so warm and true. 

10* 113 



114 LOVE POEMS. 

Each quiet star in the one that lies, 
Each meteor glance that at random dies 

The other's lashes through ; 
They are mockery all, these flowers of spring. 

Which her airs so softly woo ; 
And the love to which we would madly cling, 

Ay ! it is mockery too ; 
The winds are false which the perfume stir, 

And the looks deceive to which we sue, 
And love but leads to the sepulchre. 

Which the flowers spring to strew. 



Ay ! there it is, that winning smile, 

That look that cheats my heart for ever, 
That tone that will my brain beguile 

Till reason from her seat shall sever. 
All, all bewitching, as when last 

I for the twentieth time forswore them. 
Resistless as when first I cast 

My whole adoring soul before them. 

Like carrier doves that hurry back 

To the bright home from which they're parted, 
However blind may be their track. 

Or far the goal from which they started, — 
So from Love's jesses if e'er free 

I set my thoughts one moment roving. 
Somehow the very next in thee 

They always find their home of loving. 



LOVE'S CALENDAR. II5 

III. 

She loves — but 'tis not me she loves : — 

Not me on whom she ponders, 
When in some dream of tenderness 

Her truant fancy wanders. 
The forms that flit her visions through 

Are like the shapes of old, 
Where tales of Prince and Paladin 

On tapestry are told. 
Man may not hope her heart to win, 

Be his of common mould ! 

But I — though spurs are won no more 

Where herald's trump is pealing, 
Nor thrones carved out for lady fair 

Where steel-clad ranks are wheeling — 
I loose the falcon of my hopes 

Upon as proud a flight 
As they who hawk'd at high renown, 

In song-ennobled fight. 
If daring then true love may crown, 

My love she must requite ! 

IV. 

Tell her I love her — love her for those eyes 
Now soft with feeling, radiant now with mirth, 

Which, like a lake reflecting autumn skies. 
Reveal two heavens here to us on earth — 

The one in which their soulful beauty lies. 
And that wherein such soulfulness has birth : 

Go, autumn flower, before the season flies. 



Il6 LOVE POEMS. 

And the rude winter comes thy bloom to blast — 

Go ! and with all of eloquence thou hast, 
The burning story of my love discover, 
And if the theme should fail, alas ! to move her, 

Tell her, when youth's gay budding time is past, 
And summer's gaudy flowering is over. 

Like thee, my love will blossom to the last ! 

V. 

Her heart is like a harp whose strings 

At will are touched alike by all : 
Her heart is like a bird that sings 
In answer to each fowler's call. 
That harp ! — has it one secret tone 
Reserved for master hands alone ? 
That bird ! has it one soulful note 
Which only toward its mate will float? 

Let it not wile thy soul away, 

That harp, with its beguiling touch ; 
Let not that bird's bewildering lay 

Thrill through thy bosom over-much : 
They'll cheat thine eyes of sleep to-night, 
Yet find thee dreaming with the light 
With heart and brain all idly stirred — 
The music of that harp and bird ! 

VI. 

Tis hard to share her smiles with many ! 

And while she is so dear to me. 
To fear that I, far less than any, 
Call out her spirit's witchery ! 



LOVE'S CALENDAR. II7 

To find my inmost heart when near her 
Trembling at every glance and tone, 

And feel the while each charm grow dearer 
That will not beam for me alone. 

How can she thus, sweet spendthrift, squander 

The treasures one alone can prize ? 
How can her eyes to all thus wander. 

When I but live in those sweet eyes? 
Those syren tones so lightly spoken 

Cause many a heart I know to thrill ; 
But mine, and only mine, till broken, 

In every pulse must answer still. 



VII. 

Well ! call it Friendship I have I asked for more, 

Even in those moments when I gave the most ? 

'Twas but for thee I looked so far before ! 

I saw thy bark was hurrying blindly on, 

A guideless thing upon a dangerous coast, — 

With thee, — with thee, where would I not have gone ? 

But could I see thee drifi upon the shore. 

Unknowing drift, upon a shore unknown? 

Yes, call it Friendship, and let no revealing. 

If Love be there, e'er make Love's wild name heard, 

It will not die, if it be worth concealing ! 

Call it then Friendship — but oh, let that word 

Speak but for me — for me, a deeper feeling 

Than ever yet a lover's bosom stirred ! 



Il8 LOVE POEMS. 

VIII. 

As he who, on some clouded night, 

When wind and tide attend his bark, 
Waits for the North star's steady light 

To shine above the waters dark. 
Will often for its guiding beam 

Mistake some wandering meteor's ray; 
But wilder'd by that fitful gleam 
Doubt yet to launch upon the stream, 

Till wind and tide have passed away, — 

So I, if ever Life's dark sea 

Be swept by some propitious gale. 
Look for my guiding light in thee. 

Before I dare to spread my sail ; 
So, while thy smiles deceitful shine, 

Then leave all darker than before, 
I for some surer beacon pine. 
Till, breeze and flood no longer mine, 

I'm stranded on the barren shore. 

IX. 

I will love her no more! — 'tis a waste of the heart, 
This lavish of feeling — a prodigal's part — 
Who, heedless, the treasure a life could not earn 
Squanders forth where he vainly may look for return. 

I will love her no more — it is folly to give 
Our best years to one, when for many we live. 
And he who the world will thus barter for one, 
I ween, by such traffic must soon be undone. 



LOVE'S CALENDAR. II9 

I will love her no more — it is heathenish thus 

To bow to an idol which bends not to us ; 

Which heeds not, which hears not, which recks not 

for aught 
That the worship of years to its altar hath brought. 

I will love her no more — for no love is without 
Its limit in measure, and mine hath run out ; 
She engrosseth it all, and till some she restore. 
Than this moment I love her — how can I love inore ? 

X. 

Oh ! how could my heart so falsely gauge, 

Singing that more than now I could not love thee ! 

Others, like me, may, at thy budding age, 

Hold every feeling in sweet vassalage 

Unto thy charms. But I — by all above me ! — 
Will prove thee suzerain of my soul more nearly; 

When Time his arts shall 'gainst thy beauty wage, 
To break their serfdom — serving thee more dearly. 

Mark how the sunset, with its parting hues. 

The heaving bosom of yon river staineth ! 
To yield those tints the grieving waves refuse, 
Nor yet that purpling light at last will lose 

Till Night itself, like Death, above them reigneth ! 
So more and more will brighten to the last 
The light which, once upon my true soul cast. 
Reflected there, still true till death remaineth. 

XI. 

Think not I love thee — by my word I do not ! 
Think not I love thee — for thy love I sue not ! 



I20 LOVE POEMS. 

And yet, I fear, there's hardly one that weareth 
Thy beauty's chains, who like me for thee careth ! 
Who joys like me when in thy joy believing — 
Who like me grieves when thou dost seem but griev- 

ing? 
But, though I charms so perilous eschew not, 
Think not I love thee — trust me that I do not ! 

Think not I love thee ! — pr'ythee why so coy, then ? 
Doth it thy maiden bashfulness annoy, then? 
Sith the heart's homage still will be up-welling. 
Where Truth and Goodness have so sweet a dwelling ? 
Surely, unjust one, I were less than mortal. 
Knelt I not thus before that temple's portal. 
Others dare to love thee — dare what I do not — 
Then let me worship, bright one, while I woo not ! 



XII. 

I know thou dost love me — ay ! frown as thou wilt, 

And curl that beautiful lip, 
Which I never can gaze on without the guilt 

Of burning its dew to sip : 
I know that my heart is reflected in thine. 
And, like flowers that over a brook incline. 

They toward each other dip. 

Though thou lookest so cold in these halls of light 

'Mid the careless, proud, and gay, 
I will steal like a thief in thy heart at night, 

And pilfer its thoughts away. 



LOVE'S CALENDAR. 121 

I will come in thy dreams at the midnight hour, 
And thy soul in secret shall own the power 
It dares to mock by day. 

XIII. 

I ask not what shadow came over her heart 

In the moment I thought her my own — 
If love in that moment could really depart, 

I mourn not such love when 'tis flown. 
I ask not what shadow came over her then. 

What doubt did her bosom appal, 
For I know where her heart will turn truly again. 

If it ever turn truly at all ! 

It is not at once that the reed-bird takes wing, 

When the tide rises high round her nest, 
But again and again, floating back, she will sing 

O'er the spot where her love-treasures rest : 
And oh, when the surge of distrust would invade, 

Where the heart hoped for ever to dwell. 
Love long upon loitering pinion is stay'd. 

Ere his wing waves a mournful farewell. 

XIV. 

I waited for thee — but all restless waited. 
For soul like mine, it ever must be moving ; 

I knew one spirit with my own was mated. 
Yet I mistook that restlessness for loving : 

Of mine own nature an ideal created. 

And loved because I only thus was fated. 
11 



122 LOVE POEMS, 

Fated, bewilder'd thus in thought and feeling, 
To waste the freshness of my soul away. 

To see each bud of spring in turn revealing 
But canker' d blooms upon a fruitless spray, — 

Why marvel then in prayer I oft am kneeling, 

Sweet minister of grace ! to bless thy spirit-healing? 

XV. 

My life's whole pilgrimage have I not told — 

Mapping my Past before those loving eyes, 
With such minuteness that they might behold 

Each hair-line of my soul, without disguise ? 
Was Truth not woven, every line acrost — 

An iron thread through silver subtleties 
Of Fancy or of Feeling, howe'er gloss'd? 

Was Faith not there, at rein or helm the while, 
A guide, a check, for fancy's luring smile, 

A guide, a check, for feeling passion-toss' d ? 
Oh, how then, now, can thought of me so vile. 

Thought as of one to truth and faith both lost. 
Ignobly come thy bosom to beguile. 

And kill affection with suspicion's frost ! 

XVI. 

Nay, plead not thou art dull to-night. 

When I can see the tear-drop stealing. 
Soft witness to love's watchful sight. 

Some lurking grief within revealing. 
Wouldst thou so cheat the friend thou lovest 

Of half the wealth he owns in thee ? 
Why, sweet one, by that smile thou provest 

Thy tears as well belong to me ! 



LOVE'S CALENDAR. 1 23 

Ah, tears again ! — well, let them flow, 

In tenderness thus flow for ever, 
Those last upon my breast I know 

Fresh from affection's fruitful river. 
What ! smiles once more ! — Sweet April wonder, 

Thy sun and rain thou wilt not miss ; 
Why should not I then have my thunder. 

And melt each bolt into a kiss ? 

XVII. 

Life seems to thee more earnest, dearest ! 

And is it not the same with me ? 
Why, sweet, each shadow that thou fearest 

To me becomes reality — 
A thought — a pang to mar my gladness. 
And cloud my brow with tender sadness — 

And all of loving thee ! 

The jest from Avhich thou often turnest 
Is only love's fond thoughtful guile. 

And comes from heart in love most earnest 
When it would make thee smile — 

Is but the stream's bright circles breaking 

Beneath thy blessed tear-drops — waking 
Love's dimples there the while. 

XVIII. 

Thou ask'st me why that thought of death 
Should rise within our souls the same — 

Why now, when dearer grows each breath 
Of life, we shrink not at his name ! 



124 LOVE POEMS. 

What is it, sweet, but faith in each 
The other could not live alone? 

What but the wish at once to reach 

The land where change is never known ? 

As, parted here, we dare not think 

Of wearying years to come between ! 
Nay, start not, love, as on the brink 

Of what may be — as it hath been — 
We only part like twin-born rays 

Diverging from the morning sun. 
Again within his orb to blaze 

When fused in heaven into one. 

XIX. 

Ask me not why I should love her. 

Look upon those soulful eyes ! 
Look while earth or feeling move her, 

And see there how sweetly rise 
Thoughts gay and gentle from a breast 
Which is of innocence the nest — 
Which, though each joy were from it shred. 
By truth would still be tenanted ! 

See from those sweet windows peeping, 

Emotions tender, bright, and pure. 
And wonder not the faith I'm keeping 

Every trial can endure ! 
Wonder not that looks so winning 
Still for me new ties are spinning ; 
Wonder not that heart so true 
Keeps mine from ever changing too. 



LOVE'S CALENDAR. 1 25 

XX. 

While he thou lovest were not the same, 
If scathless all from passion's flame, 
Wouldst thou the temper' d steel forego 
At thought of what hath made it so? 
Wouldst thou have bann'd the sun to shine 
In spring upon thy chosen pine. 
And dwarf'd the stature of the tree 
That thus had never shelter' d thee ! 

Think' St thou the dream by fancy sent, 
The fervor by wild passion lent — 
Think' St thou the wandering tenderness 
That yearns each loving heart to bless — 
That either or that all can be 
The love my soul still kept for thee ? 
Still faithful kept, till thou or death 
Should come to claim her inmost breath ! 

XXI. 

Thoughts — wild thoughts ! oh why will ye wander, 

Wander away from the task that's before ye ? 
Heart — weak heart ! ah why art thou fonder. 

Fonder of her than ever of glory? 
What though the laurel for thee hath no glitter. 

What though thy soul never yearn 'd for a name ; 
When did Love garland a brow that was fitter 

To wake in Love's bosom the wild wish of fame? 

Doth she not watch o'er thine every endeavor? 
Leans not her heart in warm faith on thine own? 
11* 



126 LOVE POEMS. 

If thou sit doubting and dreaming for ever, 

Too late thou' It discover that her dream has flown i 

Ay ! though each thought that is tender and glowing 
Hath yet no errand, save only to her — 

She may forget thee, while time is thus flowing; 
Thou waste thy worship — fond idolater ! 

XXII. 

In dreams — in dreams she answers to my yearning, 
And fondly lays her downy cheek to mine ; 

In dreams each night that faithful form returning 
Will on my breast with sweet content recline : 

Awhile my heart keeps time to her soft breathing, 

Heaving in motion to her bosom heaving. 

I wake — and oh, there is an inward sinking, 

A drear soul-faintness coming o'er me then. 
That through the livelong day but makes my thinking 
One fond, fond aching thus to dream again, — 
Soul — soul, where art thou through the day employ'd, 
Only to fill at night my bosom's void ? 

XXIII. 

Why should I murmur lest she may forget me ? 

Why should I grieve to be by her forgot ? 
Better, then, wish that she had never met me, 

Better, oh far, she should remember not ! 

Yet that sad wish — ah, would it not come o'er her 
Knew she the heart on which she now relies ? 

Strong it is only in beating to adore her — 
Faint in the moment her lov'd image flies ! 



LOVE'S CALENDAR. I 27 

Why should I murmur lest she may forget me ? 

Would I not rather be remember'd not 
Ere have her grieve that she had ever met me ? 

/only suffer if I am forgot ! 

XXIV. 

They say that thou art alter'd, Amy, 

They say that thou no more 
Dost keep within thy bosom, Amy, 

The faith that once it wore; 

They tell me that another now 

Doth thy young heart assail ; 
They tell me. Amy, too, that thou 

Dost smile on his love tale. 

But I — I heed them not, my Amy, 

Thy heart is like my own ; 
And still enshrined in mine, my Amy, 

Thine image lives alone : 

Whate'er a rival's hopes have fed. 

Thy soul cannot be moved 
Till he shall plead as I have plead, 

And love as I have loved. 

XXV. 

Take back then thy pledges, — and peace to that heart 
In which faith like a shadow can come and depart ! 
From which love, that seems cherished most fondly 

to-day, 
Is cast, without grieving, to-morrow away. 



128 LOVE POEMS. 

Such a heart it may sadden mine own to resign, 

But it never was mated to mingle with mine. 

Love another ! Nay, shrink not — more wisely thou 

wilt 
If truth to thy plighted in thine eyes be guilt. 

I claim not, I ask not one thought in thy breast 
While that thought brings misgiving and doubt to the 

rest. 
If the heart that thus fails thee can bid me depart, 
Take back all love's pledges, — and peace to that 

heart ! 

XXVI. 

They tell me that my trusting heart 

Thy fondness is deceived in ; 
They say that thou all faithless art 

Whom I so well believed in ! 
I heed not, reck not, what they say 

So earnestly about thee ; 
I'd rather trust my soul away 

Than for one moment doubt thee. 

Like mine thy youth was early lost ; 

Thy vows too rashly plighted ; 
Thy budding life by wintry frost 

Of grief untimely, blighted. 
Devotion is most deep and pure 

In souls by sorrow shaded. 
And love like ours will still endure 

AVhen brighter ties have faded. 



LOVE'S CALENDAR. 1 29 

XXVII. 

Alas ! if she be false to me 

It is for her alone I weep ! 
'Tis that in coming years I see 
Her suffering from such frailty 

Than mine, oh, far more deep ! 

So tender, yet so false withal, 

So proud, and yet so frail. 
Responding to each flatterer's call. 
Loving, yet often blind to all 

Of love that could not fail — 
Oh who will watch her wayward soul, 

Who minister when I am gone. 
Who point her spirit to its goal. 
Who with unwearying love console 

That truth-abandon'd one? 

XXVIII. 

I knew not how I loved thee — no ! 

I knew it not till all was o'er — 
Until thy lips had told me so — 

Had told me I must love no more ! 
I knew not how I loved thee ! — yet 

I long had loved thee wildly well ! 
I thought 'twere easy to forget — 

I thought a word would break the spell : 

And even when that word was spoken, 

Ay ! even till the very last, 
I thought, that spell of faith once broken, 

I could not long lament the past. 



130 LOVE POEMS. 

Oh, foolish heart ! Oh, feeble brain, 
That love could thus deceive — subdue ! 

Since hope cannot revive again, 
Why cannot memory perish too ? 

XXIX. 

The conflict is over, the struggle is past, 

I have look'd — I have loved— I have worshiped my 

last; 
And now back to the world, and let fate do her worst 
On the heart that for thee such devotion hath nurs'd — 
To thee its best feelings were trusted away, 
And life hath hereafter not one to betray. 

Yet not in resentment thy love I resign ; 
I blame not — upbraid not one motive of thine ; 
I ask not what change has come over thy heart, 
I reck not what chances have doom'd us to part; 
I but know thou hast told me to love thee no more, 
And I still must obey where I once did adore. 

Farewell, then, thou loved one — oh ! loved but too 

well, 
Too deeply, too blindly, for language to tell — 
Farewell ! thou hast trampled love's faith in the dust. 
Thou hast torn from my bosom its hope and its trust ! 
But if thy life's current with bliss it would swell, 
I would pour out my own in this last fond farewell ! 

XXX. 

We parted in kindness, but spoke not of parting ; 
We talk'd not of hopes that we both must resign; 



LOVE AND FAITH. I3I 

I saw not her eyes, and but one teardrop starting 
Fell down on her hand as it trembled in mine : 

Jiach felt that the past we could never recover, 
Each felt that the future no hope could restore. 

She shudder' d at wringing the heart of her lover, 
/dared not to say I must meet her no more. 

Long years have gone by, and the springtime smiles 
ever 
As o'er our young loves it first smiled in their 
birth ; 
Long years have gone by, yet that parting, oh ! 
never 
Can it be forgotten by either on earth. 

The note of each wild bird that carols toward heaven 
Must tell her of swift-winged hopes that were mine, 

While the dew that steals over each blossom at even 
Tells me of the teardrop that wept their decline. 



Love and Faith. 

"T^WAS on one morn in springtime weather, 
1 A rosy, warm, inviting hour. 

That Love and Faith went out together. 
And took the path to Beauty's bower. 

Love laugh' d and frolick'd all the way, 
While sober Faith, as on they rambled, 



132 LOVE POEMS. 

Allow'd the thoughtless boy to play, 

But watch' d him, wheresoe'er he gambolled. 

So warm a welcome, Beauty smiled 

Upon the guests whom chance had sent her, 
That Love and Faith were both beguiled 

The grotto of the nymph to enter ; 
And when the curtains of the skies 

The drowsy hand of Night was closing, 
Love nestled him in Beauty's eyes, 

While Faith was on her heart reposing. 

Love thought he never saw a pair 

So softly radiant in their beaming ; 
Faith deem'd that he could meet nowhere 

So sweet and safe a place to dream in ; 
And there, for life in bright content, 

Enchain'd, they must have still been lying, 
For Love his wings to Faith had lent, 

And Faith he never dream' d of flying. 

But Beauty, though she liked the child, 

With all his winning ways about him, 
Upon his Mentor never smiled, 

And thought that Love might do without him ; 
Poor Faith, abused, soon sighing fled. 

And now one knows not where to find him ; 
While mourning Love quick followed 

Upon the wings he left behind him. 

'Tis said that in his wandering 

Love still around that spot will hover, 



THE BLIGHTED HEART. 1 33 

Like bird that on bewilder' d wing 
Her parted mate pines to discover ; 

And true it is that Beauty's door 
Is often by the idler haunted : 

But, since Faith fled, Love owns no more 
The spell that held his wings enchanted. 



THE Blighted Heart 

WHEN the flowers of Friendship or Love have de- 
cay'd 
In the heart that has trusted and once been betray'd. 
No sunshine of kindness their bloom can restore, 
For the verdure of feeling will quicken no more 1 

Hope, cheated too often when life's in its spring, 
From the bosom that nursed it for ever takes wing, 
And memory comes, as its promises fade. 
To brood o'er the havoc that passion has made, — 

As 'tis said that the swallow the tenement leaves 
Where ruin endangers her nest in the eaves. 
While the desolate owl takes her place on the wall. 
And builds in the mansion that nods to its fall. 
12 



134 LOVE POEMS. 



'' V Amour Sans Ailes!' 

YOUNG Love, when tender mood beset him, 
One morn to Lilla's casement flew, 
Who raised it just so far to let him 
Blow half his fragrant kisses through. 

Love brought no perch on which to rest, 

And Lilla had not one to give him. 
And now the thought her soul distress'd 

What should she do? — Where would she leave 
him ? 

Love maddens to be thus half caught, 

His struggle Lilla's pain increases; 
'' He'll fly — he'll fly away (she thought), 

Or beat himself and wings to pieces." 

'^ His wings ! why them I do not want — 
The restless things make all this pother : " 

Love tries to fly, but finds he can't. 
And nestles near her like a brother. 

Plumeless, we call him Friendship now ; 

Love smiles at acting such a part — 
But what cares he for lover's vow 

While \\\w^ perdu near Lilla's heart? 



TRUST NOT LOVE. 1 35 



Trust not Love. 



OH, trust not Love — the wayward boy, 
But haste, if you'd detain him, 
Ere time can beauty's bond destroy, 
Or other eyes and lips decoy. 
With Hymen to enchain him. 

The humming-bird the blossom leaves 

Whene'er its sweets are failing; 
The silken web the spider weaves 
Yields up the prey to which she cleaves. 
When autumn winds are wailing. 

And Love, when beauty's bloom decays, 

Will spread his fickle pinion, 
And prove the web in which he })lays 
Too weak against the rude world's ways 
To hold the roving minion. 

Then trust not Love — the wayward boy, 
But haste, if you'd detain him, 

Ere time can beauty's bond destroy, 

Or other eyes and lips decoy, 
With Hymen to enchain him. 



136 LOVE POEMS. 



The Remonstrance. 

YOU give up the world ! why, as well might the 
sun, 
When tired of drinking the dew from the flowers, 
While his rays, like young hopes, stealing off one by 
one. 
Die away with the muezzin's last note from the 
towers. 
Declare that he never would gladden again, 

With one rosy smile, the young morn in its birth; 
But leave weeping Day, with her sorrowful train 
Of hours, to grope o'er a pall-cover'd earth. 

The light of that soul, once so brilliant and steady, 

So far can the incense of flattery smother 
That, at thought of the world of hearts conquered 
already. 
Like Macedon's madman, you weep for another ! 
Oh ! if, sated with this, you would seek worlds un- 
tried. 
And fresh as was ours, when first we began it, 
Let me know but the sphere where you next will 
abide. 
And that instant, for one, I am off for that planet. 



WAKE, LADY, IVAKE. I 3/ 

Wake, Lady, Wake I 

WRITTEN FOR AN AIR IN DER FREISCHUTZ. 

WAKE, Lady, wake ! the stars on high 
Are twinkling in the vaulted sky, 
The dew drops on the leafy spray 
Are trembling in the moon's cold ray; 
But what to me are dewy skies 
And moon and stars, unless thine eyes 
Will waken, to rival the heaven's blue. 
And the stars and moon in their brightness too ? 

Wake, Lady, wake ! the murmuring breeze 
Is soft among the swaying trees; 
And with the sound of brooks is heard 
The note of evening's lonely bird : 
But thy loved voice is sweeter far 
Than whispering woods or breezes are, 
Or the silver sound of the tinkling rill. 
Or the plaintive call of the whippoorwiU. 

Wake, Lady ! or my heart alone 
Will, like a lute that's lost its tone. 
To nature's touch refuse to sound. 
While all her works rejoice around 
How can I prize the brightest spot. 
If I am there, but thou art not ? 
Then while through thy lattice the moonbeams break, 
'Tis thy lover that calls thee, wake, Lady, wake ! 
12 * 



138 LOVE POEMS. 



Serenade. 



SLEEPING ! why now sleeping ? 
The moon herself looks gay, 
While through thy lattice peeping 
Wilt not her call obey? 

Wake, love, each star is keeping 
For thee its brightest ray ; 
And languishes the gleaming 
From fire-flies now streaming 
iVthwart the dewy spray. 

Awake, the skies are weeping 
Because thou art away. 

But if of me thou'rt dreaming, 
Sleep, loved one, while you may ! 

And music's wings shall hover 

Softly thy sweet dreams over, 
Fanning dark thoughts away. 

While, dearest, 'tis thy lover 
Who'll bid each bright one stay. 



The Coquette. 

WE parted at the midnight hour. 
We parted thcti as lovers part. 
The stars which pierced that trellis'd bower. 

They saw me press her to my heart ; 
I left her with no fear, — no doubt ! 
I left her with my hopes — my all — 



THE COQUETTE. 1 39 

I left her then ! O God ! — without 
A dream of what would soon befall. 

I went to toil — far from her sight, 

Far from her blessed voice away — 
But still she haunted me by night, 

Still murmur' d in my ears by day. 
The hours flew by in dreams of her, 

Those hours which claim'd far other care, 
I wasted them — fond worshipper — 

In dreams, whose waking was despair ! 

A month — no, not a month — by Heaven ! 

Had fled since she was pledged to me — 
Since /love's parting kiss had given 

To seal her vows of constancy ! 
The very moon was not yet old, 

Whose crescent beam our loves had lighted — 
Yet ere those few short weeks were told, 

She had forgot the faith she plighted ! 

I heard her lips that faith forswear — 

And, while those lips revealed the tale. 
My very soul it blush'd that e'er 

It could have loved a thing so frail ! 
Yet scorn — it was not scorn that stung — 

'Twas pity — horror — grief, that moved me — 
I felt the wrong — the shameless wrong. 

But spared the heart that once had loved me ! 

Yes, faithless, false, as now I found it. 
That heart had beat against my own. 



I40 LOVE POEMS. 

And I — I could not bear to wound it, 
When all its shielding worth was flown. 

What though I could believe no more 
In such as her own lips reveal' d her ! 

Yet still when all Love's faith was o'er, 
Love's tenderness remained to shield her. 

And when the moment came to break 

The subtle chain around me cast. 
Like me she seem'd in soul to ache 

At riving of its links at last. 
Could they betray my mind once more. 

Those pleading looks? yes ! even then, 
So sweet the guise of truth they wore, 

I wish' d to be deceived again. 

Ay ! strangely as at first we met — 

There did, by Heaven ! around her hover 
Such light of warmth and truth, that yet 

I, at the last, was still her lover ! 
And when I saw her brow o'ercast — 

Saw tears from those soft eyelids melt, 
I reck'd not, cared not for the past, 

But there, adoring, could have knelt ! 

That moment to her lip and eye 

There came that calm and loveless air. 
Like Beauty, when her triumph's nigh, 

Will toward its easy victim wear. 
No test — no time — no fate had wrought 

O'er soul like mine so strong a spell. 
As in that moment chill'd to naught 

Love that did seem unquenchable ! 



SYMPATHY. 141 

We parted — not as lovers part — 

No kind farewell — no fond regret 
Was utter' d then from either heart — 

We parted only to forget ; 
We parted, not as lovers part, 

As lovers we can meet no more. 
Let Time decide in either heart 

Which most such parting shall deplore. 



The Wish 



BRIGHT as the dew, on early buds that glistens, 
Sparkles each hope upon thy flower-strewn 
path ; 
Gay as a bird to its new mate that listens, 
Be to thy soul each winged joy it hath ; 
Thy lot still lead through ever-blooming bowers, 
And Time for ever talk to thee in flowers. 

Adored in youth, while yet the summer roses 
Of glowing girlhood bloom upon thy cheek. 

And, loved not less when fading, there reposes 
The lily, that of springtime past doth speak. 

Ne'er from Life's garden to be rudely riven. 

But softly stolen away from Earth to Heaven. 



42 LOVE POEMS. 



Waller to Sacharissa. 

It is said they met at court after Waller was wedded to an- 
other, and that the lady coolly asked the poet to address a copy 
of verses to her : Johnson has commented upon the bitterness 
of his reply. 

TO-NIGHT ! to-night ! what memories to-night 
Came thronging o'er me as I stood near thee. 
Thy form of loveliness, thy brow of light, 

Thy voice's thrilling flow. 
All, all were there ; to me — to me as bright 
As when they claim 'd my soul's idolatry 
Years, long years ago ! 

That gulf of years! O God! hadst thou been 
mine, 
Would all that's precious have been swallow'd 
there ? 
Youth's meteor hope, and manhood's high design, 

Lost, lost, for ever lost — 
Lost with the love that with them all would twine, 
The love that left no harvest but despair. 
Unwon at such a cost ! 

Was it ideal Xki'M wild, wild love I bore thee ? 

Or thou thyself — didst thou my soul enthral ? 
Such as thou art to-night did I adore thee ! 

Ay, idolize — in vain ! 
Such as thou art to-night — could time restore me 
That wealth of loving — shouldst thou have it all 
To waste perchance again ? 



WALLER TO SACHARISSA. 1 43 

No ! Thou didst break the coffers of my heart, 

And set so lightly by the hoard within, 
That I too learn'd at last the squanderer's art, — 

Went idly here and there, 
Filing my soul and lavishing a part 

On each, less cold than thou, who cared to win 
And seemed to prize a share. 

No ! Thou didst wither up my flowering youth. 

If blameless, still the bearer of a blight ! 
The unconscious agent of the deadliest ruth 

That human heart hath riven ! 
Teaching the scorn of my own spirit's truth ! 
Holding — not me — but that fond worship light 
Which link'd my soul to heaven ! 

No ! — No ! — For me the weakest heart before 
One so untouch'd by tenderness as thine ! 
Angels have enter' d through the frail tent door 

That pass the palace now — 
And He who spake the words, " Go sin no more," 
'Mid human passions saw the spark divine, 
But not in such as thou ! 



144 love poems. 

The Suicide. 

A FRAGMENT. 

'< Put out the light, and. then," &c. — Shakspeare. 
E roam'd, an Arab on life's desert waste — 



H 



Its waters fleeting when they seemed most 
near — 
Love's phantom leaving, when long vainly chased — ■ 
No aim to animate, no hope to cheer. 

His was a heart where love, when once it sprung, 
With every feeling would its tendrils twine ; 

And still it grew, though baffled, crush'd and wrung, 
Rankly, as round an oak some noxious vine, 

Within the poisonous folds of whose embrace 
Withers each generous shoot that quickens there, 

Till the proud features we no more can trace. 
Which once that noble stem was wont to wear. 

And time pass'd on — Time who both joy and grief 
Bears on his tireless wings alike away. 

As storms the bursting bud and wither' d leaf 
Will sweep together from the fragile spray. 

Her form matured, with all its girlish grace, 
A woman's softer full proportion wore ; 

And none could look upon that radiant face, 
And not the soul enthroned there adore. 

Her eye was bright, or should a thought of him 
Its laughing lustre for a moment shade, 



THE SUICIDE. 145 

'Twas but a passing cloud which could not dim 
The buoyant spirit in its beams that play'd. 



And others bow'd where he before had knelt, 
And she to one, who even at such a shrine 

Could only feign what he alone had felt, 
Did the rich guerdon of her heart resign. 

She loved him for — for God knows what — 'tis true 
In Fashion's field a brilliant name he'd earn'd ; 

\nd, with his full-dress pantaloons on too, 
His legs and compliments were both well turn'd. 

We love, we know not why — in joy or sadness 
We waste on one the fountains of the heart. 

The mind's best energies, the — pshaw! — 'tis mad- 
ness — 
'Tis worse than frenzy — 'tis an idiot's part. 

This Bertram knew — for his was not the dreaming 

Cherish'd illusion of a feeble mind ; 
He knew, too, that in hours there's no redeeming 

A soul like his from bonds which years have 
twined. 

That she ne'er loved him, came the cold assurance 
Home to his heart, when all its springs were 
wasted ; 

He felt that his had been the vain endurance 
Of pangs to her unknown — by her untasted. 

13 



146 LOVE POEMS. 

Dazzled by the prize his soul, his senses ravish' d, 
Rashly he ventured on a dangerous game ; 

Lost, beyond hope, the stake so madly lavish'd, 
And felt his folly was alone to blame. 

And then he knew they had not each been weighing 
An equal hazard in the chance gone by : 

She had but been with the heart's counters playing — 
He, he had set his all upon a die. 

But to what purpose now avail'd the seeing 

That love, such as ne'er did human pulses stir — 

Which was to him the very food of being — 
Was but as pastime and a toy to her? 

Her empire o'er his soul had been too deeply founded. 
Too long establish'd to reconquer now; 

Still was she doom'd to be the heaven which bounded 
The world of all his hopes and fears below. 

And were it not so, could the charm around him 
Even by a word of his at last be broken, 

Fully as now that spell would yet have bound him — 
That magic word would still remain unspoken. 

One night it chanced, when homeward sadly stray- 
ing, 
Beneath her window that he paused, unmoved. 
To watch the light which, through the casement 
playing. 
At times was darken 'd by the form he loved — 



LOVE'S VAGARIES. 1 47 

When through the half-raised sash, the summer air 
Brought, through the blind which screened the 
lady's bower, 

Words to the throbbing ear, which listen'd there, 
That told him first it was her bridal hour ! 

The sounds of revelry had ceased — the lights 
Were all extinguish'd, except one alone ; 

'Tis that, 'tis that his straining vision blights, 
Dimly as through the half-shut blind it shone ! 

That little light ! The burning Afric sun, 

Which pour'd its fierce and scorching noonday 
blaze 

The heroic Roman's lidless eyes upon, 

Was not more maddening than that taper's rays. 

The light's removed — but still a shadow dim 

Upon the curtain's folds reflected falls ! 
The light's extinguished — and the world to him 



LOVE'S Vagaries. 

I. 

'n^WAS wrongly done, to let her know the feeling 

1 Which mask'd so long within my heart lay hid, 
Yet now I wonder at so well concealing 

My soul's full tenderness, as long I did ; — 
'Twas wrongly done — and yet, howe'er it move 

Her fervid nature thus to love in vain, 
'Tvvere better vainly even thus to love 

Than not to know she was beloved again ! 



148 LOVE POEMS. 

Those hours of passion now for ever pass'd, 

Those wild endearments that we oft have known, 
Needed they not the veil around them cast 

That love, acknowledged love, at last hath thrown? 
Long in remembrance as they now may live. 

However sad that living place may be. 
That love a hallow'd tenderness will give 

To things all bitter else in memory. 

II. 

In dreams — in dreams she answers to my yearning. 
And fondly lays her downy cheek to mine ; 

In dreams each night that faithful form returning 
Will on my breast with sweet content recline : 

Awhile my heart keeps time to her soft breathing, 

Heaving in motion to her bosom heaving. 

I wake — and oh, there is an inward sinking, 
A drear soul-faintness coming o'er me then, 

That through the livelong day but makes my thinking 
One fond, fond aching thus to dream again, — 

Soul — soul, where art thou through the day employ'd, 
Only to fill at night my bosom's void ? 

III. 

What though I sigh to think that after all 
'Twas half some erring fancy of the mind, 

Half that illusion which they "love" miscall 
Whose sense dreams not of sentiment refined ? — 

They to whom ne'er that gush of soul was given 

Which melts the heart to mould it but for Heaven — 



THINK OF ME, DEAREST. 1 49 

What though to think it was but this perchance 
Prompts the half-wistful — half-disdainful sigh ; 

Makes the fond tone — the tear — the tender glance 
Seem less than valueless in memory : 

Still would I rather my love run to waste 

Than she I love "love's bitterness" should taste. 



Think of me. Dearest 

THINK of me, dearest, when day is breaking 
Away from the sable chains of night, 
When the sun, his ocean-couch forsaking, 
Like a giant first in strength awaking. 

Is flinging abroad his limbs of light ; 
As the breeze that first travels with morning forth,- 
Giving life to her steps o'er the quickening earth— ^ 
As the dream that has cheated thy soul through the 

night. 
Let me come fresh in thy thoughts with the lightr- 

Think of me, dearest, when day is sinking 

In the soft embrace of twilight gray. 
When the starry eyes of heaven are winking,- 
And the weary flowers their tears are drinking, 

As they start like gems on the star-lit spray. 
Let me come warm in thy thoughts at eve, 
As the glowing track which the sunbeams leave, 
When they, blushing, tremble along the deep 
While stealing away to their place of sleep. 

13* 



150 LOVE POEMS. 

Think of me, dearest, when round thee smiling 
Are eyes that melt while they gaze on thee ; 

When words are winning and looks are wiling, 

And those words and looks, of others, beguiling 
Thy fluttering heart from love and me. 

Let me come, true in thy thoughts in that hour ; 

Let my trust and my faith — my devotion — have 
power, 

When all that can lure to thy young soul is nearest, 

To summon each truant thought back to me, dearest. 



Pla tonics. 



A PLACE for me — one place for me, 
Within the young wild heart be kept ; 
Howe'er Affection's chords may there 
By other hands than mine be swept ; 
However unto Love's mad thrill 

Their music may responsive be. 
As now let sober Friendship still 

Preserve one note — one place for me. 

When thy bright spirit grave, or gay. 

Some other chains delighted near, 
To catch thy features' varying play. 

And watch each lightning thought appear, 
However thou his soul mayst touch, 

Let him not wholly thine enthral 
From one who ever loved so much 

To chase its meteor windings all. 



PL A TONICS. I 5 

When 'mid some scene where Nature flings 

Her loveliest enchantments round, 
And in thy kindling soul upsprings 

Thoughts which no mortal breast can bound, 
Or when upon some deathless i)age 

Thy mind communes with kindred mind. 
Still let me there one thought engage, 

And round thy soaring spirit wind. 

When first the bride-like dawn is blushing 

Within the arms of joyous Day, 
Or when the twilight dews are hushing 

His footsteps o'er the hills away. 
When from the fretted vault above 

God's ever burning lamps are hung, 
And when in dreams of Heaven and love 

His mercies are around thee flung. 

A place for me — one place for me. 

Within thy memory live enshrined, 
Whatever idols Time may raise 

Upon the altars of thy mind. 
And while youth's hopes before me sweep. 

Like bubbles on a freshening sea. 
My bark of life shall ever keep 

One sacred berth for thee — for thee. 



152 LOVE POEMS. 

''Coming out''— A Dream. 

YOUNG Lesbia slept. Her glowing cheek 
Was on her polish' d arm reposing, 
And slumber closed those fatal eyes 

Which keep so many eyes from closing. 

For even Cupid, when fatigued 

Of playing with his bow and arrows, 

Will harmless furl his weary wings. 
And nestle with his mother's sparrows. 

Young Lesbia slept — and visions gay 
Before her dreaming soul were glancing 

Like sights that in the moonbeams show, 
When fairies on the green are dancing. 

And, first, amid a joyous throng 

She seem'd to move in festive measure. 

With many a courtly worshipper. 

That waited on her queenly pleasure. 

And then, by one of those strange turns 

That witch the mind so when we're dreaming, 

She was a planet in the sky. 
And they were stars around her beaming. 

Yet hardly had that lovely light 

(To which one cannot here help kneeling) 
Its radiance in the vault above 

Been for a few short hours revealing. 






" COMING O UT "— ^ DREA M. 1 5 3 

When, like a blossom from the bough, 
By some remorseless whirlwind riven, 

Swiftly upon its lurid path 

'Twas back to earth like lightning driven. 

Yet, brightly still, though coldly, there 
Those other stars were calmly shining. 

As if they did not miss the rays 

That were but now with theirs entwining. 

And half with pique, and half with pain, 
To be from that gay chorus parting. 

Young Lesbia from her dream awoke 

With swelling heart and teardrop starting. 

INTERPRETATION. 

Had she but thought of those below, 

Who thus were left with breasts benighted, 

Till Heaven dismiss'd that star to earth. 
By which alone our hearts are lighted — 

Or, had she recollected, when 

Each virtue from the world departed. 

How Hope, the dearest, came again. 
And stay'd to cheer the lonely-hearted : 

Sweet Lesbia could not thus have grieved 
From that cold, dazzling throng to sever, 

And yield her young warm heart again 
To those that prize its worth for ever. 



154 LOVE POEMS. 

The LOVER'S Star. 

DANISH AIR. 

OH, when, 'mid thy wild fancy's dreaming. 
Life's meteors around thee are streaming, 
Thy tears still belie the false beaming 

That fain would thy spirit control — 
Look, look to that lone light above thee, 
The star that seems set there to love thee, 
Look there, and I am with thee in soul ! 
Look, look, etc. 

And if, when thus wilder' d, thou turnest 
To lean on the true and the earnest — 
The friend for whom vainly thou yearnest 

Has pass'd like a mist from life's strand. 
Oh, come, come again to me, dearest ! 
Thou still to my soul shalt be nearest. 

All mine in that bright spirit-land ! 
Oh ! come, come again, etc. 



To A Lady. 

WITH A C()LI,ECTION OF VERSES. 

A PASSING sigh, perhaps — perchance a sneer- 
Is all these lines, if ever read, may claim ; 
And the wild thoughts, so vainly written here, 
A worldly mind, perhaps, will calmly name 
The sickly record of ''a stripling's flame." 



WRITING FOR AN ALBUM. I 55 

Yet, Lady, should you chance when years are fled, 
Some hour when Memory from each burial-place 

Gives up once more her long-forgotten dead. 
Recalls the looks of each familiar face, 
And in the heart renews each time-worn trace — 

At such an hour, when others claim the sigh 
Remembrance gives to early ties decay'd, 

To hopes and fears now gone for ever by, 
To scenes in memory's twilight charms array'd. 
And loves and friendships long ago betray' d — 

Should you then chance these faded lines to meet, 
I know they will thy transient gaze arrest ; 

And he whose heart while yet Hope's pulses beat 
Was thine, within thy pensive breast 
Will claim one gentle thought among the rest. 



Writing for an Album. 

I'LL try no more — 'tis all in vain 
To rack for wit my head. 
Wit left the mansion of my brain 
When ye inhabited. 
Thoughts will not come — words will not flow 
Except when thus toward thee they go. 

Oh ! thou wert born to be my blight, 

My bane upon this earth — 
Fate did my doom that moment write 

In which those eyes had birth. 



56 LOVE POEMS. 

'Tis strange that aught so good, so pure, 
Should work the evil I endure. 

Thou darkenest each hope that flings 

O'er life one sunny ray ; 
And to each joy thou lendest wings 
To take itself away. 
Yet hope and joy — oh what to me 
Are they, unless they spring from thee ! 

I'll try no more — 'tis all in vain 

To rack for wit my head, 
While every chamber of my brain 
By thee is tenanted. 
Thoughts will not come — words will not flow 
Except when thus toward thee they go. 



To A Lady Weeping in Church. 

WHEN tears from such as thee bedew the cheek, 
In scenes like this — 'twould seem that hea- 
venly eyes 
The soften'd glories of religion speak, 

And claim the dewdrop from their kindred skies. 

'Tis said that female saints of other days 

From grovelling guilt could purge the foulest 
breast, 

And teach the poor deluded wretch the ways 
That lead to mansions of eternal rest. 



HOLDING A GIRL'S JUMPING ROPE. 1 5/ 

And who could look upon thy heavenly face, 
Nor feel his breast with sacred fervor glow ; 

While every tear that fell from thee would chase 
Each thought that link'd him to this world below. 

If then one tear of thine — one murmur'd sigh, 
Can tune the heart to sacred scenes like this. 

Why doubt the power to lure the soul on high, 
And lead it captive to the realms of bliss? 



Holding a Girl's Jumping Rope. 

"'piS true thou art no silken band 
1 That knits my own with Zoe's hand. 
No fairy's chosen fetter; 

Yet love himself, if strength alone 

Were in his shackles to be shown. 
Could hardly find a better. 

Thy stoutly twisted hempen strand 
Would hang each felon in the land 

As high as e'er was Haman ; 
And — unless heavier than his head 
Are hearts by love inhabited, 

Would hold the wildest Damon. 

But thou — like rods magicians bear, 
Of secret power art not aware. 

Nor yet to trace art able 
The story of one coil that lingers 
So lovingly on Zoe's fingers — 

Thou highly favor'd cable ! 

]4 



158 LOVE POEMS. 

Since first in June, when henip is green, 
And bees and butterflies are seen 

Along its blossoms sailing, 
Through mellow Autumn's jocund hours. 
When warblers from the brown wood's bowers 

Are on its seeds regaling — 

Till steadying on some top-mast spar 
The footsteps of the gallant tar, 

Upon the wave careering. 
Or pendent from the stately mast. 
Through glowing palms thy cordage pass'd, 

Some banner bold uprearing. 

'Tis strange that aught so void of life 
Should have, as if with feeling rife. 

The electric power to mingle 
The pulses that, upon my word, 
I felt just now, together stirr'd. 

Through all thy twistings tingle. 



The Declaration. 

1LEF r the hall, as late it wore. 
And glad to be in her boudoir 
From surveillance exempt, I 
Gazed on the books she last had read, 
The chair her form had hallowed. 
And grieved that it was empty. 



THE DECLARATION. 1 59 

And sleep his web was round me weaving 
While listening to that wind-harp's breathing, 

Whose melody so wild is, 
When one, whose charms are not of earth 
(Her father just 2. plum is worth, 

And she his only child is). 

With stealthy step before me stood. 
As if to kiss in mad-cap mood 

My eyes, in slumber folded. 
Her form was full — too full, you'd say, 
And marvel at the graceful play 

Of charms so plumply moulded. 

Her eyes were of a liquid blue, 
Like sapphires limpid water through 

Their soften'd lustre darting; 
Her mind-illumined brow was white 
As snow-drift in the pale moonlight ; 

The hair across it parting 

Was of that paly brown, we're told 
By poets takes a tinge of gold 

When sunbeams through it tremble, 
While round her mouth two dimples play'd 
Like — nothing e'er on earth was made 

Those dimples to resemble. 

And there she stood in girlish glee 
To win a pair of gloves, or see 
How odd I'd look when waking. 



l6o LOVE POEMS. 

When I her round and taper waist 
So unexpectedly embraced, 

The bond there was no breaking. 

Her snowy bosom swell'd as though 
The lava there beneath the snow 

Would heave it from its moorings ; 
Her eye seem'd half with anger fired, 
And half with tenderness inspired 

In lightning-like endurings. 

But when I loosed the eager grasp 
In which I to my breast did clasp 

Her struggling and unwilling, 
I felt somehow her fragile fingers 
(The tingling in my own yet lingers) 

Within my pressure thrilling. 

I spoke to her — she answer'd not — 
I told her — now I scarce know what — 

I only do remember 
My feelings when in words express' d, 
Though warm as August in my breast, 

Seem'd colder than December. 

But how can words the thoughts express 
Of love so deep, so measureless 

As that which I have cherish'd ! 
O God ! if my sear'd heart had given 
The same devotedness to Heaven, 

It would not thus have perish'd ! 



CLOSING ACCOUNTS. l6l 

I said, "You know — you must have known — 
I long have loved — loved you alone, 

But cannot know how dearly." 
I told her if my hopes were cross' d, 
My every aim in life was lost — 

She knew I spoke sincerely ! 

She answer'd — as I breathless dwelt 
Upon her words, and would have knelt — 

" Nay, move not thus the least; 
You have — you long have had " — *' Say on, 
Sweet girl ! thy heart?" — ''Your foot upon 

The flounce of my battiste."" 



Closing Accounts. 

I PLACED — it was not ten years since — 
Sweet coz, a heart within thy keeping, 
In which there was no pulse of prince. 

Of poet, or of hero, leaping, 
But it was generous, warm and true, 

True to itself, and true to thee : 
\nd toward thine own it fondly drew — 
Drew almost in idolatry. 

I came to thee when years had fled, 

To learn how well the charge was kept ; 

That heart — it was so altered. 

Upon the change I could have wept : 

14* 



1 62 LOVE POEMS. 

The buoyant hope, the daring aim, 
The independence, stern and high; 

Spirit, misfortune could not tame. 

And pride that might the worst defy — 

All, all were gone — and in their stead 

Were bitter and were blasted feelings : 
And thoughts Despair so far had led 

They shudder'd at their own revealings. 
Yet I — although Distrust did prey 

Within that heart so wildly then 
It ate the better half away, 

I left the rest with thee again. 

Perhaps that heart in worthier case, 

I thought thou wouldst at last restore ; 
Perhaps I hoped thou mightst replace 

With thine, the one abused before : 
Perhaps there was — the truth as well 

May out at once — perhaps there was in 
Those matchless eyes so strong a spell 

I could not help it, witching cousin. 

Well, it was thine — thine only still, 

A little worse, perhaps, for wear ; 
But firm, despite of every ill 

Which Fate and thou had gather'd there. 
Yet now, when Youth and Hope are past. 

And care will soon make manhood gray, 
I think — I think from thee at last 

That I must take that heart away. 



THE LOON UPON THE LAKE. 1 63 

Still, if it grieve thee to restore 

A trust that's held so carelessly, 
Or if, when asking back once more 

The heart I left in pledge with thee. 
It may, in spite of all I've said, 

By some odd chance with thine be blended. 
Why, cousin, give me that instead. 

And all our business here is ended. 



The Loon upon the Lake. 

FROM THE CHIPPEWAY. 

I LOOK' D across the water, 
I bent over it and listen'd, 
I thought it was my lover. 

My true lover's paddle glisten'd. 
Joyous thus his light canoe would the silver ripples 

wake. 
But no, it is the Loon alone — the Loon upon the lake. 
Ah me ! it is the Loon alone — the Loon upon the lake. 

I see the fallen maple 

Where he stood, his red scarf waving, 
Though waters nearly bury 

Boughs they then were newly laving. 
I hear his last farewell, as it echoed from the brake. 
But no, it is the Loon alone — the Loon upon the lake. 
Ah me ! it is the Loon alone — the Loon upon the lake. 



164 love poems. 

Translation of an Indian Love Song. 
I. 

FAIREST of flowers by fountain or lake, 
Listen, my fawn-eyed one, wake, oh awake ! 
Pride of the prairies, one look from thy bower 
Will gladden my spirits like dew-drops the flower. 

II. 
Thy glances to music my soul can attune, 
As sweet as the murmur of young leaves in June ; 
Then breathe but a whisper from lips that disclose 
A balm like the morning or autumn's last rose. 

III. 
My pulse leaps toward thee like fountains when first 
Through their ice chains in April toward Heaven 

they burst ; 
Then, fairest of flowers, by forest or lake, 
Listen, my fawn-eyed one, wake, oh awake! 

IV. 

Like this star-paved water where clouds o'er it lower, 
If thou frownest, beloved, is my soul in that hour ; 
But when Heaven and thou, love, your smiles will 

unfold. 
If the current be ruffled, its ripples are gold. 

v. 
Awake, love ; all nature is smiling, yet I, 
I cannot smile, dearest, when thou art not by ; 



TO A LADY. 165 

Look from thy bower then, here on the lake, 
Pulse of my beating heart, wake, oh awake ! 



To A Lady 

WHO TALKED OF COMMUNING WITH THE STARS 
WHEN SHE WAS SAD. 

OH tell not the stars, the gay stars, of thy sadness. 
If moments there be when the feeling steals o'er 
thee ; 
They may shine like the world o'er thy moments of 
gladness, 
And gild each bright thought with a ray of their 
glory, 
But their beams are too cold and too far off for 
sorrow 
To awaken a sigh from their chorus of mirth. 
And the soul that in sadness would sympathy borrow 

Must look for a lender much nearer the earth. 
Then lavish no more on those chilly orbs yonder, 

The treasures of feeling they cannot return ; 
Awhile on the planet from which thy thoughts 
wander. 
There is one heart, at least, will with sympathy 
burn. 



1 66 LOVE POEMS. 



Tasso to Leonora. 

STILL, still I love thee ; Hope no more, 
'Tis true, may light my dungeon's gloom, 
And youth as well as hope is o'er, 

Both buried in a living tomb ; 
And even reason doth forsake me. 

So oft that I begin to fear 
If not the madman they would make me. 

Its utter loss is ever near ; 
Yet fettered in this hideous cell, 

And banned and barred from those sweet eyes, 
Unknowing if one memory dwell 

With thee of him who daily dies, — 
Still, Leonora, still alone to thee 
Beneath their shackles still untamably 
Love's pulses beat as if my limbs were free. 

Go tell thy brother though the infectious breath 

Of my rank prison may be steeped in death. 

Though through my veins corrupting now may steal 

The accursed taint which day by day I feel 

Poisoning life's tabernacle, regret 

For having loved thee, Leonora, never yet, 

In spite of all I've borne or yet may bear. 

Hath wrung one craven tear from my despair. 

And thou — thou who from him who'd do and dare, 

And suffer all of anguish heart can feel 

Thou who in beauty's pride did shrink to hear 

The love that lips could only half reveal ; 

Blushing, ashamed, because thou wert so dear 



I 



ST. VALENTINE'S DAY. 1 6/ 

To one thy kinsman cared not to approve, — 

Thou, Leonora, when I am no more, 

Shalt feel the influence of a poet's love ; 

In every land my story they'll deplore, 

Pilgrims from all shall make my grave their shrine, 

And each who breathes my name shall murmur thine. 



St. VALENTINE'S DAY. 

THE snow yet in the hollow lies ; 
But, where by shelvy hill 'tis seen. 
In myriad rills it trickling flies 

To lace the slope with threads of green ; 
Down in the meadow glancing wings 

Flit in the sunshine round a tree, 
Where still a frosted apple clings. 
Regale for early Chickadee : 

And chestnut buds begin to swell. 

Where flying squirrels peep to know 
If from the tree-top, yet, 'twere well 

To sail on leathery wing below — 
As gently shy and timorsome. 

Still holds she back who should be mine ; 
Come, Spring, to her coy bosom, come. 

And warm it toward her Valentine ! 

Come, Spring, and with the breeze that calls 
The wind-flower by the hill-side rill, 



1 68 LOVE POEMS. 

The soft breeze that by orchard walls 

First dallies with the daffodil — 
Come lift the tresses from her cheek, 

And let me see the blush divine, 
That mantling there, those curls would seek 

To hide from her true Valentine. 

Come, Spring, and with the Red-breast's note, 

That tells of bridal tenderness. 
Where on the breeze he'll warbling float 

Afar his nesting mate to bless — 
Come, whisper, 'tis not always Spring ! 

When birds may mate on every spray — 
That April boughs cease blossoming ! 

With love it is not always May ! 

Come, touch her heart with thy soft tale. 

Of tears within the floweret's cup, 
Of fairest things that soonest fail. 

Of hopes we vainly garner up — 
And while, that gentle heart to melt, 

Like mingled wreath, such tale you twine, 
Whisper what lasting bliss were felt 

In lot shared with her Valentine. 



The Blush. 

I COULD not wish that in thy bosom aught 
Should e'er one moment's transient pain awaken. 
Yet can't regret that thou — forgive the thought — 
As flowers when shaken 






THY NAME. 1 69 



Will yield their sweetest fragrance to the wind, 
Should, ruffled thus, betray thy heavenly mind. 

The lilies faintly to the roses yield, 

As on thy thoughtful cheek they straggling vie 
(Who would not strive upon so sweet a field 

To win the mastery?). 
And thoughts are in thy speaking eyes reveal'd, 
Pure as the fount the prophet's rod unseal'd. 



I 



Thy Name. 

IT comes to me when healths go round, 
And o'er the wine their garlands wreathing, 
The flowers of wit, with music wound, 

Are freshly from the goblet breathing ! 
'From sparkling song and sally gay 
It comes to steal my heart away. 
And fill my soul, mid festive glee, 
With sad, sweet, silent thoughts of thee. 

It comes to me upon the mart. 

Where care in jostling crowds is rife; 
Where Avarice goads the sordid heart. 

Or cold Ambition prompts the strife; 
It comes to whisper if I'm there, 
'Tis but with thee each prize to share. 
For Fame were not success to me. 
Nor riches wealth unshared with thee. 

15 



170 LOVE POEMS. 

It comes to me when smiles are bright 

On gentle lips that murmur round me, 
And kindling glances flash delight 

In eyes whose spell might once have bound me. 
It comes — but comes to bring alone 
Remembrance of some look or tone, 
Dearer than aught I hear or see, 
Because 'twas worn or breathed by thee. 

It comes to me where cloister'd boughs 

Their shadows cast upon the sod ; 
Awhile in Nature's fane my vows 

Are lifted from her shrine to God ; 
It comes to tell that all of worth 
I dream in heaven, or know on earth, 
However bright or dear it be, 
Is blended with my thought of thee. 



The Call of Sprlng. 

THOU wak'st again, O Earth ! 
From winter's sleep ! — 
Bursting with voice of mirth 

From icy keep ; 
And laughing at the Sun, 
Who hath their freedom won, 
Thy waters leap ! 

Thou wak'st again, O Earth ! 
Feebly again. 



THE CALL OF SPRING. I7I 

And who by fireside hearth 
Will now remain? 

Come on the rosy hours — 

Come on thy buds and flowers, 

As when in Eden's bowers, 
Spring first did reign. 

Birds on thy breezes chime 

Blithe as in that matin time 
Their choiring begun : 

Earth, thou hast many a prime- 
Man hath but one ! 

Thou wak'st anew, O Earth ! 

Freshly anew ! 
As when at Spring's first birth 

First flow' rets grew. 
Heart ! that to earth dost cling, 
While boughs are blossoming. 

Why wake not too ? 

Long thou in sloth hast lain, 
Listing to Love's soft strain — 

Wilt thou sleep on? 
Playing, thou sluggard heart. 
In life no manly part, 

Though youth be gone. 
Wake ! 'tis Spring's quickening breath 

Now o'er thee blown ; 
Awake thee ! ere thou in death 
Pulselessly slumbereth, 
Pluck thou from Glory's wreath 

One leaf alone ! 



172 love poems. 

Written tn a Lady's Prayer Book. 

THY thoughts are Heavenward ! and thy heart, 
they say, 
Which love, oh more than mortal, failed to move. 
Now in its precious casket melts away, 

And owns the impress of a Saviour's love ! 

Many, in days gone by, full many a prayer, 

Pure, though impassion' d, has been breathed for 
thee 

By one who once thy hallow' d name would dare 
Prefer with his to the Divinity. 

Requite them now — not with an earthly love — 
But since with that his lot thou mayst not bless. 

Ask — what he dare not pray for from above — 
For him the mercy of Forgetfulness. 



Myne Heartte. 

ISOMMETYMES thinnke thye womannes artte 
Hathe fromme mye bosomme whytch'd my 
heartte, 
Yt dothe soe often ne feele to mee 
Lyke caskette where no jewelles be. 
Or, oceanne shelle wilk breathes dystresse 
I ween fromme verye emptynesse ; 
And thenne I wishe sic faythless heartte 
Of mee hadde never been a parte. 



THE LOVE TEST. [73 

And sommetymes doe I thynnke yts tyde 

Is bye thye coldness petryfyd, 

Or, thatte thyne eyne scorche uppe ye sayme 

Fromme healthfulle boundynges through mye frayme, 

Yt laggs soe in its course lyke staynes, 

Wilk blushynge creepe through cowardes veynes ; 

And thenne I thynke that sic an heartte 

Of manne hadde bettere notte be parte. 

And sommetymes doe I thynke 'twere welle 
Thys heartte shouldde breake beneathe thye spelle, 
Since lonnge yt onlye thoughtes of payne 
Hathe sentte untoe my weary brainne. 
Soe manaye that ye sabel suite 
Dothe crowde mye reasonne fromme her seatte, 
And mayke me thynnke I'd rayther parte 
Wythe lyfe in sic an faythelesse heartte. 



The Love Test. 

1 THOUGHT she was wayward — inconstant in 
part, 
But thought not the weakness e'er reached to her 

heart ; 
'Twas a lightness of mood which but tempted a lover 
The more the true way to that heart to discover. 

15* 



174 LOVE POEMS. 

What changeful seem'd there, was the play of the 

wave 
Which veileth the depth of the firm ocean cave ; 
I cared not how fitful that light wave might flow, 
I would dive for the pearl of affection below. 

I won it, methought ! and now welcome the strife. 
The burthen, the toil, the worst struggles of life ; 
Come trouble — come sorrow — come pain and despair, 
We divide ills, that each for the other would bear ! 

I believed — I could swear — there was that in her 

breast. 
That soul of wild feeling, which needs but the test. 
To leap like a falchion — bright, glowing, and true. 
To the hand which its worth and its teaiper best 

knew. 

And what was the struggle which tested love's 

power ? 
What fortune, so soon, could bring trial's dark hour ? 
Did some shadow of evil first make her heart quail ? 
Or the WORST prove at once that her truth could 

ne'er fail? 

I painted it sternly, the lot she might share ! 

I took from Love's wing all the gloss it may bear ; 

I told her how often his comrade is Care ! 

I appeal'd to her heart — and her heart it was — 

WHERE ? 



SEEK NOT TO UNDERSTAND HER. 175 

Seek not to Understand Her. 

WHY seek her heart to understand, 
If but enough thou knowest 
To prove that all thy love, like sand, 

Upon the wind thou throwest? 
The ill thou makest out at last 
Doth but reflect the bitter past, 
While all the good thou learnest yet 
But makes her harder to forget. 

What matters all the nobleness 

Which in her breast resideth, 
And what the warmth of tenderness 

Her mien of coldness hideth. 
If but ungenerous thoughts prevail 
When thou her bosom wouldst assail, 
While tenderness and warmth doth ne'er 
By any chance toward thee appear ? 

Sum up each token thou hast won 

Of kindred feeling there- 
How few for Hope to build upon, 

How many for Despair ! 
And if e'er word or look declareth 
Love or aversion which she beareth, 
While of the first no proof thou hast, 
How many are there of the last ! 

Then strive no more to understand 
Her heart, of which thou knowest 



1/6 LOVE POEMS. 

Enough to prove thy love, like sand, 

Upon the wind thou throwest : 
The ill thou makest out at last 
Doth but reflect the bitter past, 
While all the good thou learnest yet 
But makes her harder to forget. 



Withering, Withering. 

WITHERING — withering — all are withering- 
All of hope's flowers that youth hath nursed ; 
Flowers of love too early blossoming ; 
Buds of ambition, too frail to burst. 
Faintily — faintily — ah ! how faintily 

I feel life's pulses ebb and flow : 
Yet, sorrow, I know thou dealest daintily 
With one who should not wish to live moe. 

Nay ! why, young heart, thus timidly shrinking ? 

Why doth thy upward wing thus tire? 
Why are thy pinions so droopingly sinking, 

When they should only waft thee higher ? 
Upward — upward, let them be waving, 

Lifting thy soul toward her place of birth : 
There are guerdons there more worth thy having, 

Far more than any these lures of earth. 



to a waxen rose. 1/7 

''Our Friendship^ 

IT will endure ! It hath the seal upon it 
That once alone in life is ever set ; 
It will endure ! we both by suffering won it ! 
It will endure — for neither can forget. 

It 7nust endure ! for is not Truth immortal ? 

And those same tears which saw our hopes depart, 
Brought her, the comforter, from Heaven's bright 
portal, 

In rainbow radiance spanning heart to heart ! 



To A Waxen Rose.^ 

GO, mocking flower, 
Thou plastic child of art, 
Back to thy lady's bower; 
Go and ask if thou, 
False one, art proven now 
An emblem of her heart ? 

Tell her, that like thee 

That heart's of little worth, 
However kind it be, 

Which any hand with skill 
May mould unto its will : 
Too pliant from its birth. 

* " Go, lovely rose." — Walle. 



178 LOVE POEMS. 

Go, cheating blossom, 

Scentless as morning dew. 

Go ask if in her bosom, 

Although love's bud may be 
In brightness like to thee. 

It owns no fragrance too. 

But if fadeless, yet 

Still, still her love blooms on ; 

Tell her — oh, ne'er forget 
To tell her, from my heart 
Affection will not part 

When all life's flowers are gone. 



Songs and Occasional Poems. 



Songs and Occasional Poems. 



w 



Monte RE v. 

" Pends toi Brave Crillon ! Nous avons combattu, et tu u' y 
etois pas." — Lettre de Henri IV. a Crillon. 

E were not many — we who stood 
Before the iron sleet that day — 
Yet many a gallant spirit would 
Give half his years if he then could 
Have been with us at Monterey. 

Now here, now there, the shot, it hailed 

In deadly drifts of fiery spray, 
Yet not a single soldier quailed 
When wounded comrades round them wailed 

Their dying shout at Monterey. 

And on — still on our column kept 

Through walls of flame its withering way ; 
Where fell the dead, the living stept, 
Still charging on the guns which swept 
The slippery streets of Monterey. 

The foe himself recoiled aghast, 

When, striking where he strongest lay, 

16 181 



1 82 SONGS AND OCCASIONAL FOE MS. 

We swooped his flanking batteries past, 
And braving full their murderous blast, 
Stormed home the towers of Monterey, 

Our banners on those turrets wave, 

And there our evening bugles play ; 
Where orange boughs above their grave 
Keep green the memory of the brave 
Who fought and fell at Monterey. 

We are not many — we who press'd 

Beside the brave who fell that day ; 
But who of us has not confess'd 
He'd rather share their warrior rest. 
Than not have been at Monterey ? 



The Men of Churubusco. 

THEY'LL point them out in after years — 
The men of Churubusco fight ! 
And tender hearts will name with tears 

The gallant spirits quenched in night. 
When each who under Winfield fought. 

And kept the field alive. 
Was equal, in the deeds he wrought, 

To any common five — 
They'll point them out, those veterans then, 
As far beyond all common men. 
And each to each, with stern delight, 
Will name the Churubusco fight. 



THE MEN OF CHURUBUSCO. 1 83 

They'll sing their praise, when they're no more — 

The men of Churubusco fight ! 
And when their latest march is o'er — 

As one by one is lost to sight — 
Then girls will beg his friends to spare, 

From off that hoary brow, 
A shred but of the scattered hair 

Which waves so richly now : 
And loiterers by the inn-side hearth 
Will pause amid their tavern mirth, 
And, filling, fear since he has pass'd, 
They drink ''to Churubusco's last !" 

They'll paint their deeds in statued hall — 

The deeds of Churubusco's fight : 
And on the smoke-dried cottage wall 

Will smile their pictures, brave and bright, 
Who fought with stalwart Scott of yore, 

That storied field to win — 
When every warrior bosom bore 

Five hero hearts within : 
They'll legends tell of heroes then, 
Far, far beyond all modern men. 
And still in song will grow more bright 
The deeds of Churubusco fight. 



1 84 SONGS AND OCCASIONAL POEMS. 

"Rio BKAVor 

A MEXICAN LAMENT. 

A ir. — RONCESVALLES. 

RIO BRAVO ! Rio Bravo ! saw men ever such a 
sight 

Since the field of Roncesvalles sealed the fate of 
many a knight. 

Dark is Palo Alto's story — sad Resaca Palma's rout, 

Ah me ! upon those fields so gory how many a gal- 
lant life went out. 

There our best and bravest lances shivered 'gainst 
the Northern steel, 

Left the valiant hearts that couch'd them 'neath the 
Northern charger's heel. 

Rio Bravo ! Rio Bravo ! brave hearts ne'er mourned 
such a sight, 

Since the noblest lost their life-blood in the Ronces- 
valles fight. 



There Arista, best and bravest — there Raguena, tried 
and true, 

On the fatal field thou lavest, nobly did all men 
could do ; 

Vainly there those heroes rally, Castile on Monte- 
zuma's shore, 

Vainly there shone Aztec valor brightly as it shone 
of yore. 



RIO BRAVO. 185 

Rio Bravo ! Rio Bravo ! saw men ever such a sight, 
Since the dews of Roncesvalles wept for Paladin 
and knight. 

III. 

Heard ye not the wounded coursers shrieking on 

yon trampled banks, 
As the Northern wing'd artillery thundered on our 

shattered ranks? 
On they came — those Northern horsemen — on like 

eagles toward the sun. 
Followed then the Northern bayonet, and the field 

was lost and won. 
Rio Bravo ! Rio Bravo ! minstrel ne'er sung such a 

fight. 
Since the day of Roncesvalles sang the fame of 

martyred knight. 

IV. 

Rio Bravo ! fatal river ! saw ye not, while red with 

gore. 
One cavalier all headless quiver, a nameless trunk 

upon thy shore? 
Other champions not less noted sleep beneath thy 

sullen wave ; 
Sullen water, thou hast floated armies to an ocean 

grave. 
Rio Bravo ! Rio Bravo ! lady ne'er wept such a sight, 
Since the moon of Roncesvalles kiss'd in death her 

own loved knight. 

16* 



1 86 SONGS AND OCCASIONAL POEMS. 
V. 

Weepest thou, lorn Lady Inez, for thy lover 'mid the 
slain ? 

Brave La Vega's trenchant sabre cleft his slayer to 
the brain — 

Brave La Vega, who, all lonely, by a host of foes 
beset. 

Yielded up his falchion only, when his equal there 
he met. 

Oh, for Roland's horn to rally his Paladins by that 
sad shore ! 

Rio Bravo, Roncesvalles, ye are names linked ever- 
more. 

VI. 

Sullen river ! sullen river ! vultures drink thy gory 
wave. 

But they blur not those loved features, which not 
Love himself could save. 

Rio Bravo, thou wilt name not that lone corse upon 
thy shore, 

But in prayer sad Inez names him, names him pray- 
ing evermore. 

Rio Bravo ! Rio Bravo ! lady ne'er mourned such a 
knight. 

Since the fondest hearts were broken by the Ronces 
valles fight. 



LE FAINEANT. 1 8/ 



Le Faineant. 

" 1\T^^'^ arouse thee, Sir Knight, from thine in- 

i\ dolent ease. 
Fling boldly thy banner abroad in the breeze. 
Strike home for thy lady — strive hard for the prize. 
And thy guerdon shall beam from her love-lighted 
eyes !" 

**I shrink not the trial," that bluff knight replied — 
'' But I battle — not / — for an unwilling bride ; 
Where the boldest may venture to do and to dare, 
My pennon shall flutter — my bugle peal there ! 

" I quail not at aught in the struggle of life, 
I'm not all unproved even now in the strife; 
But the wreath that I win, all unaided — alone. 
Round a faltering brow it shall never be thrown !" 

'' Now fie on thy manhood, to deem it a sin 
That she loveth the glory thy falchion might win ! 
Let them doubt of thy prowess and fortune no more ; 
Up ! Sir Knight, for thy Lady — and do thy devoir !" 

''She hath shrunk from my side, she hath failed in 

her trust. 
Not relied on my blade, but remember' d its rust; 
It shall brighten once more in the field of its fame, 
But it is not for her I would now win a name." 



1 88 SONGS AND OCCASIONAL POEMS. 

The knight rode away, and the lady she sigh'd 
When he featly as ever his steed would bestride, 
While the mould from the banner he shook to the 

wind 
Seem'd to fall on the breast he left aching behind. 

But the rust on his glaive and the rust in his heart 
Had corroded too long and too deep to depart, 
And the brand only brighten' d in honor once more, 
When the heart ceased to beat on the fray-trampled 
shore. 



Rosalie Clare. 

WHO owns not she's peerless — who calls her not 
fair— 
Who questions the beauty of Rosalie Clare ? 
Let him saddle his courser and spur to the field. 
And though harness' d in proof, he must perish or 

yield ; 
For no gallant can splinter — no charger may dare 
The lance that is couch'd for young Rosalie Clare. 

When goblets are flowing, and wit at the board 
Sparkles high, while the blood of the red grape is 

pour'd. 
And fond wishes for fair ones around offer' d up 
From each lip that is wet with the dew of the cup, — 
What name on the brimmer floats oftener there, 
Or is whisper'd more warmly, than Rosalie Clare? 



THE MYRTLE AND STEEL. 1 89 

They may talk of the land of the olive and vine — 
Of the maids of the Ebro, the Arno, or Rhine ; — 
Of the Hoiiris that gladden the East with their smiles, 
Where the sea's studded over with green summer 

isles ; 
But what flower of far-away clime can compare 
With the blossom of ours — bright Rosalie Clare? 

Who owns not she's peerless — who calls her not fair? 
Let him meet but the glances of Rosalie Clare ! 
Let him list to her voice — let him gaze on her form — 
And if, hearing and seeing, his soul do not warm. 
Let him go breathe it out in some less happy air 
Than that which is bless'd by sweet Rosalie Clare. 



The Myrtle and Steel. 

h fi'vp-Tov TO Kladl ^i(j)og dopr/Gu. — Calli stratus. 

ONE bumper yet, gallants, at parting, 
One toast ere we arm for the fight ; 
Fill round, each to her he loves dearest — 

'Tis the last he may pledge her, to-night ! 
Think of those who of old at the banquet 

Did their weapons in garlands conceal, 
The patriot heroes who hallow'd 

The entwining of Myrtle and Steel ! 

Then hey for the Myrtle and Steel ! 

Then ho for the Myrtle and Steel ! 
Let every true blade that e'er loved a fair maid 

Fill a round to the Myrtle and Steel. 



190 SONGS AND OCCASIONAL POEMS. 

'Tis in moments like this, when each bosom 

With its highest-toned feeling is warm, 
Like the music that's said from the ocean 

To rise in the gathering storm,* 
That her image around us should hover, 

Whose name, though our lips ne'er reveal, 
We may breathe through the foam of a bumper, 

As we drink to the Myrtle and Steel. 

Then hey for the Myrtle and Steel ! 

Then ho for the Myrtle and Steel ! 
Let every true blade that e'er loved a fair maid 

Fill a round to the Myrtle and Steel. 

Now mount, for our bugle is ringing 

To marshal the host for the fray. 
Where our flag to the firmament springing 

Flames over the battle array : 
Yet, — gallants — one moment — remember, 

When your sabres the death-blow would deal, 
That Mercy wears her shape who's cherished 

By lads of the Myrtle and Steel. 

Then hey for the Myrtle and Steel ! 

Then ho for the Myrtle and Steel ! 
Let every true blade that e'er loved a fair maid 

Fill a round to the Myrtle and Steel. 

* In Pascagoula Bay strange music is heard when certain 
winds prevail. Naturalists attribute the phenomenon to the 
vibration of the " horns " of catfish, v^^hich at such times con. 
gregate in large schools. 



algonquin ivar song. i9i 

Algonquin War Song. 
" pe na se-wug." 

HEAR not ye their shrill-piping 
screams on the air? 
U]) ! Braves, for the conflict - 

prepare ye — prepare ! 
Aroused from the canebrake, 

far south, by your drum, 
With beaks whet for carnage, 
the Battle Birds come. 

Oh, God of my fathers, 

as swiftly as they, 
I ask but to swoop 

from the hills on my prey ; 
Give this frame to the winds, 

on the Prairie below. 
But my soul, like thy bolt, 

I would hurl on the foe ! 

On the forehead of Earth 

strikes the Sun in his might. 
Oh gift me with glances 

as searching as light. 
In the front of the onslaught 

to single each crest, 
Till my hatchet grows red 

on their bravest and best. 



192 SONGS AND OCCASIONAL POEMS. 

Why stand ye back idly, 

ye Sons of the Lake ! 
Who boast of the scalp-locks 

ye tremble to take? 
Fear-dreamers may linger, 

my skies are all bright — 
On— on— to the War Path,* 

MY God and my Right. 



Algonquin Death Song. 

"a BE TUH GE ZHIG." 

UNDER the hollow sky, 
Stretch'd the Prairie lone, 
Centre of glory, I 
Bleeding, disdain to groan. 

But like a battle cry 
Peal forth thy thunder moan, 
Baim-wa-wa ! f 

Star — Morning Star, whose ray 
Still with the dawn I see, 

Quenchless through half the day. 
Gazing thou seest me ; 

* Hoh! Nemonedo netaibuatum o win. 

f Baim-wa-wa means " the sound of passing thunders," a 
phrase which will convey a just idea of the violence of this 
figure, and the impossibility of rendering it into English by 
any single word. 



ALGONQUIN DEATH SONG. 1 93 

Yon birds of carnage, they 
Fright not my gaze from thee ! * 
Baim-wa-wa ! 

* The battle-fields of our Mexican war have given a new 
and terrible interest to this bold figure of the wounded Indian 
warrior. The following paragraph, which appeared in a New 
York journal a few days preceding the arrival of the news of 
the bloody field of Buena Vista, has all the interest of what 
the newspapers call " a curious coincidence." 

Phenomenon in Natural History. — The Montgomery (Ala- 
bama) Journal says : 

" An intelligent and reliable correspondent at Missouri, 
Pike county, informs us of a singular circumstance, which had 
somewhat troubled many of the worthy citizens of that section. 
This was the appearance of an immense flight of the great 
American vulture, of several miles in length, and containing 
millions of these aerial scavengers. They were a long time in 
passing, and at times darkened the whole horizon. The writer 
says they came nearly due north and steered nearly south ; 
some flew so low as to be within the limits of the boughs of 
the tallest trees, and others so high as scarcely to be seen. At 
one time the whole canopy seemed to be darkened with these 
birds from east to west, north to south; from the tops of trees 
to as high as the sight could reach was one dark cloud. 

"The question now is one of interest to naturalists, where 
such a vast number of these birds could have been bred, and 
why this passage, so unusual, from its known habits." 

The Alabamian is evidently no poet, or he could not fail to 
have interpreted this "phenomenon" as the fearful augury of 
a great battle or raging pest in Mexico. Such a superstition 
as this is common among our Indian tribes, who call these 
birds *' the battle birds." 

" Aroused from the cane-brakes, far south, by your drum. 
With beaks whet for carnage, the Battle Birds come," 

17 



194 SONGS AND OCCASIONAL POEMS. 

Bird, in thine airy rings 
Over the foeman's line, 

Why do thy flapping wings 
Nearer me thus incline ? 

Blood of the dauntless brings* 
Courage, O Bird, to thine ! 
Baim-wa-wa ! 

Hark to those Spirit-notes ! 
Ye high Heroes divine, 

Hymned from your god-like throats 
That song of Praise is mine ! 

Mine, whose grave pennon floats f 
Over the foeman's line ! 
Baim-iva-wa ! 

are lines of an Indian war-song, of which the original is given 
in Schoolcraft's " Oneota."— TV. Y. Gazette. 

* Nun-pahs hene, or " The Dauntless," is a title given among 
some tribes of the Northwest to those fraternized bands of 
warriors, in which each member is consecrated to death on the 
battle-field, or rather is sworn never to desert a brother of the 
band in battle. 

f The Indians plant flags at the head of the grave, which it 
is deemed sacrilegious even for an enemy to disturb. 

These stanzas, says Mr. Schoolcraft, " have all been actually 
sung on warlike occasions, and repeated in my hearing. They 
have been gleaned from the traditionary songs of the Chippe- 
was of the north, whose villages extend through the region 
of Lake Superior and the utmost sources of the Mississippi." 



sparkling and bright. 1 95 

Sparkling and Bright. 

SPARKLING and bright in liquid light 
Does the wine our goblets gleam in, 
With hue as red as the rosy bed 

Which a bee would choose to dream in. 
Then fill to-night, with hearts as light. 

To loves as gay and fleeting 
As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim, 
And break on the lips while meeting. 

Oh ! if Mirth might arrest the flight 

Of Time through Life's dominions, 
We here awhile would now beguile 
The gray-beard of his pinions, 

To drink to-night, with hearts as light. 

To loves as gay and fleeting 
As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim. 
And break on the lips while meeting. 

But since delight can't tempt the wight, 

Nor fond regret delay him, 
Nor Love himself can hold the elf. 
Nor sober Friendship stay him. 
We'll drink to-night, with hearts as light. 

To loves as gay and fleeting 
As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim. 
And break on the lips while meeting. 



196 songs and occasional poems. 
Buff and Blue. 

Air — " Old Dan Tucker." 



0' 



H bold and true, 
In buff and blue, 
Is the soldier-lad that will fight for you. 

In fort or field. 

Untaught to yield, 
Though death may close his story — 

In charge or storm, 

'Tis woman's form 
That marshals him to glory. 

For bold and true. 

In buff and blue. 
Is the soldier-lad that will fight for you. 

In each fair fold 

His eyes behold 
When his country's flag waves o'er him- 

In each rosy stripe, 

Like her lip so ripe, 
His girl is still before him. 

For bold and true. 

In buff and blue. 
Is the soldier-lad that will fight for you. 



FAR AWAY. 197 

''Far Away:' 

Au- — " Long time ago." 

THE song — the song that once could move me 
In life's glad day — 
The song of her who used to love me 

Far — far away — 
It makes my sad heart, fonder — fonder — 

Wildly obey 
The spell that wins each thought to wander 
Far — far away ! 

Once more upon my native river 

The moonbeams play, 
Once more the ripples shine as ever 

Far — far away — 
But ah, the friends who smiled around me, 

Where — where are they ! 
Where the sweet spell, that early bound me, 

Far — far away ? 

I think of all that hope once taught me — 

Too bright to stay — 
Of all that music fain had brought me, 

Far — far away ! 
And weep to feel there's no returning 

Of that glad day, 
Ere all that brightened life's fresh morning 

Was far — far away. 
17* 



198 SONGS AND OCCASIONAL POEMS. 



The Sleigh Bells. 

MERRILY, merrily sound the bells 
As o'er the ground we roll, 
And the snow-drift breaks in silvery flakes 

Before our cariole. 
When wrapp'd in buffalo soft and warm, 

With mantle and tippet dight, 
We cheerily cleave the fleecy storm. 

Or skim in the cold moonlight. 
Merrily, merrily ! Merrily, merrily ! 

Merrily sound the bells. 

Merrily, merrily sound the bells 

Upon the wind without. 
When the wine is muU'd and the waffle cull'd, 

And the song is passed about. 
While rosy lips and dimpled cheeks 

The welcome joke inspire, 
And mirth in many a bright eye speaks 

Around the hickory fire. 
Merrily, merrily ! Merrily, merrily ! 

Merrily sound the bells. 



B 



anacreontic. 1 99 

Anacreontic. 

TO KaTJiiGTov [xhv vSup. — Pindar. 

LAME not the Bowl— the fruitful Bowl ! 



Whence wit, and mirth, and music spring 
And amber drops elysian roll, 

To bathe young Love's delighted wing. 
What like the grape Osiris gives 

Makes rigid age so lithe of limb? 
Illumines memory's tearful wave. 

And teaches drowning hope to swim? 
Did Ocean from his radiant arms 

To earth another Venus give, 
He ne'er could match the mellow charms 

That in the breathing beaker live. 

Like burning thoughts which lovers hoard 

In characters that mock the sight, 
Till some kind liquid, o'er them pour'd. 

Brings all their hidden warmth to light — 
Are feelings bright, which, in the cup. 

Though graven deep, appear but dim. 
Till fill'd with glowing Bacchus up. 

They sparkle on the foaming brim. 
Each drop upon the first you pour 

Brings some new tender thought to life, 
And as you fill it more and more. 

The last with fervid soul is rife. 

The island fount, that kept of old 
Its fabled path beneath the sea, 



200 SONGS AND OCCASIONAL POEMS. 

And fresh, as first from earth it roU'd, 

From earth again rose joyously, 
Bore not beneath the bitter brine 

Each flower upon its limpid tide 
More faithfully than in bright wine 

Our hearts will toward each other glide. 
Then drain the cup, and let thy soul 

Learn, as the draught delicious flies, 
Like pearls in the Egyptian's bowl. 

Truth beaming at the bottom lies. 



The Song of the Drowned. 

DOWN, far down, in the waters deep. 
Where the booming surges above us sweep, 
Our revels from night till morn we keep : 
And though with us the cup goes round 
Upon every shore where the blue waves sound, 
Yet here, as it passes from lip to lip, 
Alone is found true fellowship ; 
For only the dead, where'er they range, 
'Tis the Dead alone who never change. 

What boots your pledges, ye sons of Earth ! 
Or to whom ye drink in your hours of mirth. 
When gather' d around your festal hearth? 
Ye fill to love ! and the toast ye give 
Will hardly the fumes of your wine outlive! 



NO MORE— NO MORE. 201 

To friendship fill ! and its tale is told, 
Almost ere the pledge on your lip grows cold ! 
For only the Dead, where'er they range, 
'Tis the Dead alone who never change. 

Then come, when the '' bolt of death is hurl'd," 
Come down to us from that bleak, bleak world, 
Where the wings of sorrow are never furl'd : 
Come, and we'll drink to the shades of the past ; 
To the hopes that mock'd in life to the last ; 
To the lips and the eyes we once would adore, 
And the loves that in death can delude no more ! 
For the Dead, the Dead, where'er they range, 
'Tis only the Dead who never change. 



No More— No More. 

NO more — no more of song to-night ; 
Oh, let no more thy music flow ! 
Those notes that once could wake delight, 
Come o'er me like a spirit-blight, 
A breathing of the faded past. 
Whose freshest hopes to earth were cast 
Long, long ago. 

A livelier strain ! nay, play, instead, 

That movement wild and low. 
That chanting for the early dead 
Which best beseems spring's blossoms fled, 



202 SONGS AND OCCASIONAL POEMS. 

A requiem for each tender ray- 
That from life's morning stole away 
Long, long ago. 



Boat Song. 



WE court no gale with wooing sail, 
We fear no squall a-brewing ; 
Seas smooth or rough, skies fair or bluff, 

Alike our course pursuing. 
For what to us are winds, when thus 

Our merry boat is flying. 
While, bold and free, with jocund glee. 
Stout hearts her oars are plying ! 

At twilight dun, when red the sun 

Far o'er the water flashes, 
With buoyant song, our bark along 

His crimson pathway dashes ; 
And when the night devours the light, 

And shadows thicken o'er us, 
The stars steal out, the skies about, 

To dance to our bold chorus. 

Sometimes, near shore, we ease our oar, 

While beauty's sleep invading. 
To watch the beam through her casement gleam, 

As she wakes to our serenading; 



WHERE DOST THOU LOITER, SPRING? 203 

Then, with the tide, we floating glide 

To music soft, receding, 
Or drain one cup, to her fill'd up. 

For whom these notes are pleading. 

Thus, on and on, till the night is gone 

And the garish dawn is breaking ; 
While landsmen sleep, we boatmen keep 

The soul of frolic waking ; 
And though cheerless then our craft look, when 

To her moorings day hath brought her. 
By the moon amain she is launch'd again, 

To dance o'er the merry water. 



Where dost thou Loiter, Spring? 

WHERE dost thou loiter. Spring, 
Whilst it behoveth 
Thee to cease wandering 

Where thy breeze roveth, 
And to my lady bring 
The flowers she loveth ? 

Come with thy melting skies, 

Like her cheek, blushing, 
Come with thy dewy eyes 

Where founts are gushing; 
Come where the wild bee hies 

When dawn is flushing. 



204 SONGS AND OCCASIONAL POEMS. 

Lead her where, by the brook, 
The first blossom keepeth, 

Where, in the shelter'd nook, 
The callow bud sleepeth. 

Or with a timid look 

Through its leaves peepeth. 

Lead her whereon the spray, 

Blithely carolling, 
First birds their roundelay 

For my lady sing — 
But keep, where'er she stray, 

True love blossoming. 



Chansonne TTE. 

IT haunts me yet ! that early dream 
Of first fond Love ; 
Like the ice that floats in a summer stream 

From frozen fount above, 
Through my river of life 'twill drifting gleam, 

Wherever its waves may flow ; 
Flashing athwart each sunny hour 
With a strangely bright but chilling power. 
Ever and ever to mock their tide 

With its illusive glow ; 
A fragment of hopes that were petrified 
Long — long ago ! 



A PORTRAIT. 205 

A Portrait. 

NOT hers the charms which Laura's lover drew, 
Or Titian's pencil on the canvas threw ; 
No soul enkindled beneath southern skies 
Glow'd on her cheek and sparkled in her eyes ; 
No prurient charms set off her slender form 
With swell voluptuous and with contour warm ; 
While each proportion was by Nature told 
In maiden beauty's most bewitching mould. 
High on her peerless brow — a radiant throne 
Unmix'd with aught of earth — pale genius sat alone. 
And yet at times within her eye there dwelt 
Softness that would the sternest bosom melt, 
A depth of tenderness which show'd, when woke, 
That woman there as well as angel spoke. 
Yet well that eye could flash resentment's rays, 
Or, proudly scornful, check the boldest gaze ; 
Chill burning passion with a calm disdain, 
Or with one glance rekindle it again. 
Her mouth — oh ! never fascination met 
Near woman's lips half so alluring yet ; 
For round her mouth there play'd, at times, a smile. 
Such as did man from Paradise beguile ; 
Such, could it light him through this world of pain. 
As he'd not barter Eden to regain. 
What though that smile might beam alike on all ; 
What though that glance on each as kindly fall ; 
What though you knew, while worshipping their 

power, 
Your homage but the pastime of the hour ? 

18 



206 SONGS AND OCCASIONAL POEMS. 

Still they, however guarded were the heart, 

Would every feeling from its fastness start — 

Deceive one still, howe'er deceived before. 

And make him wish thus to be cheated more. 

Till, grown at last in such illusions gray. 

Faith follow' d Hope, and stole with Love away. 

Such was Alinda; such in her combined 

Those charms which round our very nature wind ; 

Which, when together they in one conspire. 

He who admires must love — who sees, admire. 

Variably perilous ; upon the sight 

Now beam'd her beauty in resistless light, 

And subtly now into the heart it stole. 

And, ere it startled, occupied the whole. 

'Twas well for her, that lovely mischief, well. 

That she could not the pangs it waken'd tell; 

That, like the princess in the fairy tale, 

No soft emotions could her soul assail ; 

For Nature, — that Alinda should not feel 

The wounds her eyes might make, but never heal,- 

In mercy, while she did each gift impart 

Of rarest excellence, withheld a heart / 



BIRTHDAY THOUGHTS. 20y 

Birthday Thoughts. 

AT twenty-five — at twenty-five, 
The heart should not be cold; 
It still is young in deeds to strive, 
Though half life's tale be told ; 
And Fame should keep its youth alive, 
If Love would make it old. 

But mine is like that plant which grew 

And wither'd in a night, 
Which from the skies of midnight drew 

Its ripening and its blight — 
Matured in Heaven's tears of dew, 

And faded ere her light. 

Its hues, in sorrow's darkness born. 

In tears were foster' d first ; 
Its powers, from passion's frenzy drawn. 

In passion's gloom were nurs'd — 
And perishing ere manhood's dawn, 

Did prematurely burst. 

Yet all I've learnt from hours rife 

With painful brooding here 
Is that, amid this mortal strife, 

The lapse of every year 
But takes away a hope from life, 

And adds to death a fear. 



208 songs and occasional poems. 

Byron 

HIS hopes would fade like sunset clouds, 
Which melt in blackening skies, 
Until he sought that peace in crowds 
A cheerless home denies. 

He roam'd, an Arab on life's waste. 

Its kindly springs to drink ; 
A Tantalus, from whose hot taste 

The cooling waters shrink. 

And when he would each trace forget 
That mark'd his early course. 

Remembrance brought him but regret. 
Regret became remorse. 

And then he watch' d life's lamps go out, 

Its friendships one by one 
Decay, and leave his soul without 

A light beneath the sun. 



The Thaw-King. 

HIS VISIT TO NEW YORK. 

HE comes on the wings of the warm south-west. 
In the saffron hues of the sunbeam dress' d. 
And lingers awhile on the placid bay. 
As the ice-cakes languidly steal away. 
To drink those gems which the wave turns up. 
Like Egyptian pearls in the Roman's cup. 



THE THAW-KING. 209 

Then hies to the wharves where the hawser binds 
The impatient ship from the wistful winds, 
And slackens each rope till it hangs from on high, 
Less firmly pencil' d against the sky : 
And sports in the stiffen'd canvas there 
Till its folds float out in the wooing air : 
Then leaves these quellers of Ocean's pride 
To swing from the pier on the lazy tide. 

He reaches the Battery's grassy bed, 

And the earth smokes out from beneath his tread ; 

And he turns him about to look wistfully back 

On each charm that he leaves on his beautiful track ; 

Each islet of green which the bright waters fold, 

Like emeralds, fresh from their bosom roU'd, 

The sea just peering the headlands through 

Where the sky is lost in its deeper blue, 

And the thousand barks which securely sweep 

With silvery wing round the land-lock'd deep. 

He loiters awhile on the springy ground. 
To watch the children gambol around, 
And thinks it hard that a touch from him 
Cannot make the aged as lithe of limb ; 
That he hath no power to melt the rime. 
The stubborn frost, that is made by Time : 
And sighing, he leaves the urchins to play. 
And launches at last on the world of Broadway. 

There were faces and figures of heavenly mould, 
Of charms not yet by the poet told ; 

18* 



210 SOMGS AND OCCASIONAL POEMS. 

There were dancing plumes, there were mantles gay, 

Flowers and ribbons flaunting there, 
Such as of old on a festival day 

The Idalian nymphs were wont to wear. 
And the Thaw-king felt his cheek flush high. 

And his pulses flutter in every limb. 
As he gazed on many a beaming eye, 
And many a form that flitted by. 

With twinkling foot and ankle trim. 

And he practiced many an idle freak. 
As he lounged the morning through ; 

He sprung the frozen gutters aleak. 
For want of aught else to do ; 

And left them, black as a libeller's ink. 

To gurgle away to the sewer-sink. 

He sees a beggar, gaunt and grim. 

Arouse a miser's choler. 
And he laughs while he melts the soul of him 

To fling the wretch a dollar ; 
And he thinks how small a heaven 'twould take 
For a world of souls like his to make. 



He read, placarded upon the wall, 

" That the country now on its friends did call, 

For liberty was in danger;" 
And he went to a room ten feet by four. 
Where a chairman and sec, and couple more 

(Making y?z^^ with our friendly stranger). 



THE THAW-KING. 211 

By the aid of four slings and two tallow tapers, 
Were preparing to tell in the morning papers 

Of the Union unbroken, 

By this very token, 
" That the people in mass last night had woken 
And their will at the primal meetings spoken !" 
And he trembled himself to the tip of his wing 
At the juggling might of the Caucus king. 

He saw an Oneida baskets peddling 

Around the place where the polls were held ; 
And a Fed. the Red-skin kicked, for meddling, 
As the Indian a Democrat's ballot spell'd. 
That son of the soil 
Who had no vote. 
How dared he to spoil 
A trick so neat. 
Meant only to cheat 
The voters who hither from Europe float ! 



And now as the night falls chill and gray, 

Like a drizzling rain on a new-made tomb. 
And his father, the Sun, has slunk away, 

And left him alone to gas and gloom, 
The Thaw-king steals in a vapor thin 
Through the lighted porch of a house, wherein 
Music and mirth were gayly mingled ; 

And groups like hues in one bright flower 
Dazzled the Thaw-king while he singled 

Some one on whom to try his power. 



212 SONGS AND OCCASIONAL .FOEMS. 

He enters first in a lady's eyes, 

And thrusts at a dandy's heart ; 
But the vest that is made by Frosf defies 

The point of the Thaw-king's dart ; 
And the baffled spirit pettishly flies 

On a pedant to try his art ; 
But his aim is equally foil'd by the dust- 
Y lore that envelops the man of must. 

And next he tries with a fiddler's sighs 

To melt the heart of a belle ; 
But around her waist there's a stout arm placed, 

Which shields that lady well. 
And that waist ! oh ! that waist — it is one that you 

would 
Like to clasp in a waltz, or — wherever you could. 

Her figure was fashion'd tall and slim, 

But with rounded bust and shapely limb ; 
And her queen-like step as she trod the floor, 

And her look as she bridled in beauty's pride, 
Was such as the Tyrian heroine wore 
When she blush'd alone on the conscious shore, 

The wandering Dardan's unwedded bride. 

And the Thaw-king gazed on that lady bright, 
With her form of love and her looks of light. 
Till his spirits began to wane. 

And his wits were put to rout ; 
And entering into a poet's brain, 
He thaw'd these verses out : 



THE THAW-KING. 213 

" River, O river, thou rovest free 

From the mountain height to the fresh blue sea, 

Free thyself, while in silver chain 

Linking each charm of land and main. 

Calling at first thy banded waves 

From hill-side thickets and fern-hid caves. 

From the splinter'd crag thou leap'st below 

Through leafy glades at will to flow — 

Idling now with the dallying sedge, 

Slumbering now by the steep's moss'd edge, 

With statelier march once more to break 

From wooded valley to breezy lake ; 

Yet all of these scenes, though fair they be. 

River, O river, are bann'd to me ! 

*' River, O river ! upon thy tide 
Gayly the freighted vessels glide ; 
Would that thou thus couldst bear away 
The thoughts that burthen my weary day, 
Or that I, from all, save thou, set free. 
Though laden still, might rove with thee. 
True that thy waves brief lifetime find. 
And live at the will of the wanton wind — 
True that thou seekest the ocean's flow 
To be lost therein for evermoe ! 
Yet the slave who worships at glory's shrine, 
But toils for a bubble as frail as thine, 
But loses his freedom here, to be 
Forojotten as soon as in death set free." 



214 SONGS AND OCCASIONAL POEMS. 

A Birthday Meditation. 

ANOTHER year ! alas, how swift, 
Alinda, do these years flit by, 
Like shadows thrown by clouds that drift 

In flakes along a wintry sky. 
Another year ! another leaf 
Is turn'd within life's volume brief, 
And yet not one bright page appears 
Of mine within that book of years. 

There are some moments when I feel 

As if it should not yet be so ; 
As if the years that from me steal 

Had not a right alike to go, 
And lose themselves in Time's dark sea, 
Unbuoyed up by aught from me ; 
Aught that the future yet might claim 
To rescue from their wreck a name. 

But it was love that taught me rhyme, 

And it was thou that taught me love ; 
And if I in this idle chime 

Of words a useless sluggard prove, 
It was thine eyes the habit nursed, 
And in their light I learn'd it first, 
It is thine eyes which, day by day. 
Consume my time and heart away. 

And often bitter thoughts arise 
Of what I've lost in loving thee, 



A BIR THDA V MEDITA TION. 2 1 5 

And in my breast my spirit dies, 

The gloomy cloud around to see 
Of baffled hopes and ruin'd powers 
Of mind, and miserable hours — 
Of self-upbraiding, and despair — 
Of heart, too strong and fierce to bear. 

'*■ Why. what a peasant slave am I," 

To bow my mind and bend my knee 

To woman in idolatry. 

Who takes no thought of mine or me. 

O God ! that I could breathe my life 

On battle-plain in charging strife — 

In one mad impulse pour my soul 

Far beyond passion's base control. 

Thus do my jarring thoughts revolve 

Their gather'd causes of offence, 
Until I in my heart resolve 

To dash thine angel image thence ; 
When some bright look, some accent kind, 
Comes freshly in my heated mind, 
And scares, like newly flushing day, 
These brooding thoughts like owls away. 

And then for hours and hours I muse 
On things that might, yet will not be, 

Till one by one my feelings lose 
Their passionate intensity. 

And steal away in visions soft. 

Which on wild wing those feelings waft 



2l6 SONGS AND OCCASIONAL POEMS. 

Far, far beyond the drear domain 
Of reason and her freezing reign. 

And now again from their gay track 

I call, as I despondent sit. 
Once more these truant fancies back 

Which round my brain so idly flit ; 
And some I treasure, some I blush 
To own — and these I try to crush — 
And some, too wild for reason's rein, 
I loose in idle rhyme again. 

And even thus my moments fly. 

And even thus my hours decay, 
And even thus my years slip by. 

My life itself is wiled away ; 
But distant still the mounting hope. 
The burning wish with men to cope 
In aught that minds of iron mould 
May do or dare for fame or gold. 

Another year ! another year, 

Alinda, it shall not be so ; 
Both love and lays forswear I here, 

As I've forsworn thee long ago. 
That name, which thou wouldst never share, 
Proudly shall fame emblazon where 
On pumps and corners posters stick it, 
The highest on the Jackson ticket. 



brunt the fight. 21/ 

The Yachter. 

MY bark is my courser so gallant and brave ; 
Like a steed of the prairie she bounds o'er the 
wave, 
And the breast of the billow, as onward I roam. 
Swelling proudly to meet her, is fleck' d by her foam. 

Like the winds which her canvas exultingly fill, 
I float as I list, and I rove as I will ; 
The breeze cannot baffle, for with it I veer, 
Or in the wind's eye like the petrel I steer. 

O'er the pages of story the student may pore, 
The trumpet the soldier may charm to the war, 
\\\ the forest the hunter his haven may see, 
But the bounding blue water and shallop for me. 

With no haven before me — beneath me my home — 
All heaven around me wherever I roam, 
I am free — I am free as the shrill piping gale 
That whistles its music as onward I sail. 



"Bruxt the FiGHTr 

SUGGESTED BY AN EMBALMED INDIAN HEAD. 

NOT to the conflict, where those death wounds came 
That still discolor thine undaunted brow, 
Not to the wild wood, when thy soul of flame 
Found vent alone in deeds — all nameless now, 

19 



2l8 SONGS AND OCCASIONAL POEMS. 

Though startled fancy first by these is caught — 
Not, not to these dost thou enchain my thought ! 

The tuft of honor, streaming there unshorn,"^ 
The separate gashes, every one in front. 

Prove knightly crest was ne'er more bravely borne 
By charging champion through the battle's brunt, 

While those old scars, from forays long since past, 

Bespeak the warrior's life from first to last. 

Bespeak the man who acted out the whole — 
The whole of all he knew of high and true, 

All that was vision'd in his savage soul. 

All that his barbarous powers on earth could do ; 

Bespeak the being perfect to the plan 

Of Nature when she moulded such a man. 

His simple law of duty and of right — 

Oneness of soul in action, thought and feeling ; 

His mind, disturb'd by no conflicting light. 
His narrow faith, so clear in each revealing ; 

His will untrammell'd to act out the part 

So plainly graved on his untutor'd heart : 

Envy I these ? Would I for these forego 
The broader scope of being that is mine? 

His bond of sense with spirit once to know 
Would I the strife for truth and good resign ? 

How can I — when, according to my light, 

My law, like his, is still to brunt the fight ! 

"^ See " Vigil of Faith," stanza xxii. 



BUENA VISTA. 2ig 

BuEh^A Vista. 

[Supposed to be written by a Mexican prisoner within the 
American lin§s at Saltillc] 

WE saw their watch-fires through the night 
Light up the far horizon's verge; 
We heard at dawn the gathering fight 
Swell like the distant ocean surge — 
The thunder-tramp of mountain hordes 

From distance sweeps a boding sound, 
As Aztec's twenty thousand swords 

And clanking chargers shake the ground. 

A gun ! — now all is hushed again — 

How strange that lull before the storm, 
That fearful silence o'er the plain ! — 

Halt they their battle line to form ? 
It booms — it booms — it booms again, 

And through each thick and thunderous shock 
The war-scream seems to pierce the brain, 

As charging squadrons interlock. 
Columbia's sons — of different race — 

Proud Aztec and bold Alleghan, 
Are grappled there in death embrace. 

To rend each other, man to man ! 

The storm-clouds lift,* and through the haze. 
Dissolving in the noontide light, 

* " While the battle was going on, there came up a thick 
black cloud, which extended itself across the valley immedi- 
ately over the two armies, entirely concealing them from my 



220 SOJVGS AND OCCASIONAL POEMS. 

I see the sun of Aztec blaze 

Upon her banner broad and bright ! 

And on — still on, her ensigns wave, 
Flinging abroad each glorious fold ; 

While drooping round each sullen stave 
Cling Alleghan's but half unrolled. 

But stay ! that shout has stirred the air ; 

I see the stripes — I see the stars — 
O God ! who leads the phalanx there 

Beneath those fearful meteor bars ? 
*' Old Zack " — "■ Old Zack" — the war-cry rattles 

Amid those men of iron tread, 
As rung "Old Fritz," in Europe's battles, 

When thus his host great Frederick led ! 
Like Cordillera's snow-fed flood 

Its torrent-track through forests rending. 
Like Santiago's crashing wood 

Through which it whirls, in foam descending, 
So Taylor's power in that wild hour 

Upon our central might is thrown, 
So round his dread resistless tread 

Our bleeding ranks are rent and strewn. 

Oh ! hardly from that carnage dire 
We drag our patriot chief away — 

view, from which I could hear peal after peal of heavy thun- 
der, and see the sharp lightning descend. At the same time I 
could hear the roar of the cannon of both armies, then engaged 
in deadly conflict ; as though Heaven's artillery was contend- 
ing against that of feeble man." — Letter fj-oin an Officer, in the 
Knickerbocker. 



A/V DOG. 221 

Who, crushed by famhie, steel and fire, 
Yet claims as his the desperate day ! 

That day whose sinking light is shed 
O'er Buena Vista's field, to tell 

Where round the sleeping and the dead 
Stalks conquering Taylor's sentinel. 



Mv Dog. 



AN ear that caught my slightest tone, 
In kindness or in anger spoken ; 
An eye that ever watch'd my own, 

In vigils death alone has broken ; 
Its changeless, ceaseless, and unbought 

Affection to the last revealing; 
Beaming almost with human thought, 

And more — far more than human feeling ! 

Can such in endless sleep be chill'd, 

And mortal pride disdain to sorrow, 
Because the pulse that here was still'd 

May wake to no immortal morrow ? 
Can faith, devotedness, and love, 

That seem to humbler creatures given 
To tell us what we owe above, — 

The types of what is due to Heaven, — 

Can these be with the things that were. 
Things cherish' d — but no more returning, 

19 « 



222 SONGS AND OCCASIONAL POEMS, 

And leave behind no trace of care, 

No shade that speaks a moment's mourning? 

Alas ! my friend, of all of worth 

That years have stolen or years yet leave me, 

I've never known so much on earth. 

But that the loss of thine must grieve me. 



The Mint Julep. 

TTor' eyevero deolai. 

'npiS said that the gods on Olympus of old 
1 (And who the bright legend profanes with a 
doubt ?) 

One night, 'mid their revels, by Bacchus were told 
That his last butt of nectar had somehow run out! 

But determined to send round the goblet once more, 
They sued to the fairer immortals for aid 

In composing a draught which, till drinking were 
o'er, 
Should cast every wine ever drank in the shade. 

Grave Ceres herself blithely yielded her corn. 

And the spirit that lives in each amber-hued grain, 

And which first had its birth from the dew of the 
morn, 
Was taught to steal out in bright dew-drops again. 



THE MINT JULEP. 223 

Pomona, whose choicest of fruits on the board 
Were scatter'd profusely in every one's reach, 

When call'd on a tribute to cull from the hoard, 
Express'd the mild juice of the delicate peach. 

The liquids were mingled while Venus look'd on 
With glances so fraught with sweet magical power, 

That the honey of Hybla, e'en when they were gone. 
Has never been miss'd in the draught from that 
hour. 

Flora, then, from her bosom of fragrancy, shook. 
And with roseate fingers press' d down in the bowl, 

All dripping and fresh as it came from the brook. 
The herb whose aroma should flavor the whole. 

The draught was delicious, and loud the acclaim. 
Though something seem'd wanting for all to be- 
wail, 

But Juleps the drink of immortals became. 
When Jove himself added a handful of hail. 



Notes on Kachesco. 



Notes on Kachesco. 



PART I. STANZA III. 

Those peaks where fresh the Hudson takes 
His tribute from an hundred lakes. 

The lakes which form the sources of the Hudson in the 
Adirondac wilderness are supposed to exceed this number. 
For a topographical account of this romantic region, see the 
first and second official reports of George E. Hoffman, Esq., 
" Chief Engineer for the Survey of the Upper Hudson and its 
Branches," to the Legislature of the State of New York, 1838- 
39. These mountains, when first visited by the present wri- 
ter, in his college vacations, were much frequented by roving 
Indian hunters, who often showed a hunter's friendliness to his 
youngsterhood, and more than one of whom has since met with 
a violent death amid these solitudes. The country seemed, at 
that time, about to be settled by white people as a grazing dis- 
trict, but the opening of the Erie Canal, soon afterward, di- 
verted emigration westward ; and the Chief Engineer of the 
Upper Hudson speaks, in his first report, of former " clearings " 
and old roads being rendered impassable by a young and thick 
forest growth, and wild animals making their lair in the cabins 
of foi-mer settlers, who had migrated to the prairies. 

Within the last five years, however, the publication of the 
Geological Survey of the State has again brought the whole 
Sacandaga and Adirondac region into fresh and favorable 
notice ; and its rich mineral i-esources, not less than its mag- 
nificent scenery, are now the frequent themes of correspondence 

227 



228 NOTES ON KA CHE SCO. 

in our periodicals, alike by scientific and sporting tourists. 
These, since the first edition of this poem was published, have 
made its attractions pretty generally known ; still the following 
summing up of its characteristics, which is copied here from 
the " Ithaca Chronicle," may be acceptable to the summer 
tourist, from the memorandum of different routes it offers to 
those who would penetrate the " little Switzerland " described 
in the text : 

"An iinmense plateau of land, elevated more than fourteen 
hundred feet above tide, occupies a central position between 
the Canada line on the north and Mohawk River on the south, 
the Champlain valley on the east and Lake Ontario on the 
west. It covers an area of 8000 square miles, equal to the 
whole of Massachusetts and a corner of Rhode Island, The 
Adirondac Mountains are the crowning summits of the great 
uplift, and Tahawus or Marcy the monarch of the whole, his 
brow of rock just on the boundary of eternal frost. You en- 
ter this savage region by Lake Champlain to Westport or Kees- 
ville — or from the south more readily by Caldwell to Schroon 
Lake and Portersville, thence to Long Lake {Incapahco), or 
the Iron Works — or, lastly, from Saratoga by the way of the 
Sacandaga and Lake Pleasant to Raquet Lake. In this unin- 
habited territory are a hundred lakes of from one to twenty 
miles in length — some reposing in the perpetual shade of in- 
terlocking mountains, others flashing like silver mirrors in 
quiet valleys : and all of them alive with the finest fish. Streams 
unnumbered leap from the rocky flanks of lofty heights, and 
dash off" oceanward beneath the foliage of a primeval forest. 
In these the speckled trout dart in shoals, and bound to the 
surface toward evening, as if in a perfect frolic. Through the 
mountain gorges stray the sullen bear and tawny moose, while 
the beautiful deer feeds along the margin of the solitary waters, 
and the panther screams in the tangled thicket. From Tahawus 
and Whiteface you can sweep a circle of 500 miles in circum- 
ference, and all an ocean of mountains, holding in their em- 
brace nearly thirty visible lakes." 



NOTES ON KA CHE SCO. 229 



STANZA XIV. ■ 

And much he told of Metai lore, 
Of Wabenos we call encha7ite?-s, etc. 

Algonquin Mythology is rich in its native interpreters. 
Sorcery, as practiced by the Metai, Wabeno or Jossakeed of 
our aborigines, keeps them, in many tribes, more or less in 
bondage to a class of men who seem to officiate as conjurers, 
priests and soothsayers. Our Indians, although worshipping 
one Great Spirit, believe in the existence of a familiar spirit 
or ^aijLiuv in all things (Lafitau, James, Schoolcraft) ; and in 
their lodge lore we have an interminable calendar of demi- 
gods and minor divinities, who keep the woods from being 
lonely (see Discourse on Indian Mythology, Coll. N. Y. Hist. 
Soc). Of these divinities, Nabozhoo, Manabozhoo or Nana- 
bushe (for all these names apply to the same mythological per- 
sonage) and Pa-puckwis are the favorites among their story 
tellers. The writer has given the principal legend of the for- 
mer in his " Wild Scenes of the Forest and Prairie " (Bentley, 
London, 1838). It is more curious than poetic. 

With regard to Pa-puckwis, the red elf who figures in many 
a pleasant tale preserved in Schoolcraft's valuable " Algic Re- 
searches,'' he is always represented as very small, and as 
frequently being invisible, vanishing and reappearing to those 
whom he visits with his pranks. It is as the leader of the 
PucKWUDjEES, however, that this godikin is most entitled to 
consideration. These elvish beings are described as inhabiting 
and loving rocky heights, caves, crevices or rural and romantic 
points of land, upon the lakes, bays and rivers, particularly if 
they be crowned with pine trees. They are depicted in the 
oral legends of the Algonquins as flitting among thickets, or 
running, with a whoop, up the sides of mountains and over 
plains. The following explanation, by our most distinguished 
Algonquin scholar, of the etymology of the term, may interest 
the philological reader; 
20 



230 NOTES ON KA CHE SCO. 

" The term puck, as heard in Puckwudj, is found in a num- 
ber of compound phrases in the Odjibiwa dialect of the Algon- 
quins. It assumes an adjective, a verbal or a substantive form, 
according to the adjuncts vi^hich either precede or follow it, for 
the vocabulary of the language, although founded on roots 
which are generally monosyllables, is exceedingly compound 
in its structure. Thus, if the term puck be thrust in between 
the particles pa and ewa, it means a grasshopper ; if between 
pa and ewiss, it is the name of a mythological personage who, 
in the lodge legends of the Algouquins, is a roving, jumping, 
dancing, adventure-hunting character — a kind of harum- 
scarum or merry-andrew, who performs all sorts of feats and 
pranks. If followed by the verbal particle eta, it means to 
strike, to beat, to belabor. If put between the vowel a and tua, 
it denotes a nodding flag or ' cat-tail.' If followed by the 
substantive term e7}iik, it denotes a rampant beaver. Prefixed 
to the particle wudj, the result is an adjective phrase meaning 
wild, roving, unfixed, changing. Ininee is the diminutive form 
of the term for nian. The most common interpretation of the 
word Fuck-wudj-inijiee is ' the little wild man of the woods 
that vanishes.'" — Extract of a letter to the atithor from H. 
R. Schoolcraft, Esq., Dec. 2, 1 844. 

With regard to " the Path of Spirits " and other matters re- 
lating to disembodied souls in the subsequent stanza, that ex- 
cellent Indian authority. Dr. Edwin James, formerly of the 
army, gives us an Algonquin term for the milky way, which 
term he translates " the path of ghosts." The early French 
writers also set down the name of the galaxy in Iroquois as 
Ennoniawa, or " the path of souls." "' An Indian (says James) 
of whom I made some inquiries respecting a friend of his that 
had recently died replied to me in a very earnest manner, 
* kunkotow naiponit otachuk^ ' at no time will die his shadow.' " 

The same "writer, when on duty at Prairie du Chien, heard 
some Indians reproving one of their tribe who had been ill 
for what they considered imprudent exertion and exposure dur- 
ing his recovery, telling him that " his skado.%^ ims not y;,et w^li 



NOTES ON KACHESCO. 23 1 

settled:'' Among the Chippewas, a covering of cedar bark is put 
over the top of the grave to shed the rain. This is roof-shaped, 
and the whole structure looks slightly like a house in miniature. 
It has gable-ends, and through one of these, at the head of the 
grave, a hole is cut. Mr. Schoolcraft once asked a Chippewa 
why this was done. " To allow the soul to pass out and in," 
said the Indian. " I thought (said Mr. S.) that you believed 
that the soul went up from the body, at the time of death, to a 
land of happiness. How, then, can it remain in the body?" 
" There are two souls," answered the Indian philosopher. 
" How can that be ?" " It is easily explained," continued the 
Chippewa. *' You know that in dreams we pass over wide coun- 
tries, and see hills, and lakes, and mountains, and many scenes 
which pass our eyes and affect us; yet, at the same time, our 
bodies do not stir, and there is a soul left with the body, else it 
would be dead t So you perceive it must be another soul that 
accompanies us!" — Oneota. Lafitau, I think, has several au- 
thorities to show that this belief was shared by the Iroquois ; and 
Le Pere de Breboeuf, writing nearly 200 years ago, tells that, 
having asked an old Huron why they called bodies which had 
been long dead by the name of E-kenn (a plural word signify- 
ing souls), he was answered that they believed all men to possess 
two souls, both divisible and material, yet both rational — that 
one sepai-ated itself from the body at death, yet remained in the 
cemetery until " the feast of the dead," when it was changed 
into a turtle-dove, or, as is more commonly believed, went di- 
rectly to the place of spirits. The other soul is, as it were, 
attached to the body, and still possesses the corpse, remaining 
always in the grave, unless some one should reproduce it as an 
infant; and the proof of this last metamorphosis is found in the 
extraordinary resemblance which exists often between young 
persons and those who have long been dead. The catalogue 
of our aboriginal metamorphoses seems to be inexhaustible. 
(See Schoolcraft's yNx\\\x\g%, passim.) One of the most beauti- 
ful is that of Ojeeg, " the Summer- Maker,'' who sprang from 
the top of a mountain against the sky, and after making a hole 



232 NOTES ON KACHESCO. 

large enough to let the warm airs of summer rush through, for 
the benefit of his friends below, was himself changed into a 
constellation. More touching, however, are the transformations 
which follow death caused by the religious fast which pub- 
lic opinion compels the young warrior to keep when he first 
comes of age. This fast is often maintained by the pious as- 
pirant who is unfavored with any visitation either from this 
world or the other until death closes the torture he endures 
without complaining; and many a fragile youth thus perishing 
from inanition, in this treble trial of his firmness, his faith and 
his fancy, has passed away less gracefully than Opee-chee, 
that gentle and famished boy whom his Manito changed into a 
robin as he sank exhausted when he had just half covered his 
bosom with the red war-paint. — G il man'' s '■^ Life on the Lakes,^^ 

1837. 

With regard to the worship of our aborigines, whether the 
Manitou of the Algonquin, the Neo, Owaneo or Hawaneyu 
of the Iroquois, or the Wacondah of the prairie tribes be its 
object, their priests seem to have little agency in ministering at 
the Indian's adoration of the Great Spirit. There are no wit- 
nesses save from the invisible world of his lonely act of forest 
worship, and his piety is the spontaneous, and, as we might say, 
the involuntary, tribute of his feelings (James). The recogni- 
tion of the sun as at once the emblem and the eye of the 
Eternal, often dwelt upon by early Canadian travellers, among 
our northern tribes (Lafitau), is but seldom alluded to by 
modern observers, but the traditionary belief is still traceable 
in the usage of each pious smoker offering the first incense of 
his calumet to the sun, whence it was originally lighted (Picard). 
Tobacco, which those not reclaimed from heathen usages still 
insist is the choicest offering a devout Indian can make, either 
to the great Father of all or to his own special tutelary divin- 
ity, is believed in its human use to induce chastity and sober 
all the sensual appetites, and by thus purifying the soul to pre- 
pare it for visions of the spiritual world, and at the same time 
impel the seer to communicate with those around him (Lafitau) 



NOTES ON KACHESCO. 233 

Yet often will the hunter in his tribulation part with the last 
morsel of this specific for spirituality in himself in order to 
propitiate some testy spirit among the Manitoag that dulls his 
flint or damps his priming, or blows his canoe upon some rough 
headland he is trying to double in the tempest (Schoolcraft). 

Among the Algonquins, Kitchi Manitou is the great good 
spirit of all, while Machineto (or Matchi Manito) represents 
the opposing evil spirit (James). Among the Iroquois we 
have Neo and Kluxeolux, corresponding in character with 
those divinities (Schoolcraft). But we find no tradition or 
doctrine showing that the fiend can torment the Red Man's 
spirit in another world. He passes through many trials on his 
way to paradise, but his only durable punishment is that of 
transformation into an inferior animal. Before the newly- 
departed shadow can reach those blessed islands amid which 
lie embowered the villages of the dead, many obstacles are to 
be encountered and many difficulties overcome. The disem- 
bodied shades must cross a river, too deep and rapid to be 
forded, in a stone canoe ; they must next traverse a bottomless 
chasm bridged only by an enormous snake, on whose slimy 
back they walk ; and finally pass over a still more boisterous 
torrent than the preceding upon a single tottering log, which 
spans the roaring gulf below. This log is constantly vibrating 
upward and downward with such violence that many, alike 
children and adults, are precipitated into the gulf, when they 
are changed into fish and turtles and other cold-blooded ani- 
mals (Coll. N. Y. Hist. Soc). 

There are many traditions of once-departed spirits having 
repassed this perilous bridge and come back to earth. Dr. 
James has collected several legends of this kind ; and in 
Picard's Ceremonies Religieuses is preserved an account nearly 
identical with the following stoiy of an Iroquois Orpheus : 

Driven almost to despair by the death of his sister, Sayadyio 
resolved to seek her in the world of spirits. His journey, long 
and painful, might have proved bootless throughout if he had 
not met with an aged man who encouraged his search, and at 



234 NOTES ON KACHESCO. 

the same time gave him an empty calabash, in which he mighl 
enclose the soul of his sister, should he succeed in finding it. 
The same accommodating old gentleman likewise promised 
Sayadyio that he would give him also the maiden's brains, 
which he had in his possession, he being the appointed keeper 
of that portion of the dead. The young man arrived at last in 
the place of souls, I'he spirits were astonished to see him, 
and eagerly fled his presence. Tharonhiawagou, the master 
of the ceremonies in phantom good society, received him well, 
however, and became instantly his friend. At the moment of 
Sayadyio's arrival the souls were all gathered for a dance, 
according to their custom at that hour. He recognized his sis- 
ter floating through the phantom corps de ballet, and rushed to 
embrace her, but she vanished like a dream of the night. 
Tharonhiawagou, however, kindly furnished our adventurer 
with a mystical rattle of strange musical power; and when the 
sound of the spirit-drum, which marks the time for the choral 
dance of those blessed shades, had summoned them back to 
their places, and the Indian flute poured the enchanting notes 
that lift them along upon a tide of melody, the magic rattle 
of Sayadyio, a stronger "medicine" than either, charmed the 
soul of the Indian maiden within the reach of her brother. 
Quick as light, Sayadyio dipped up the entranced spirit, and 
shut it securely in his calabash ; then, despite the entreaties 
and artifices of the captive soul, who only thought of being 
delivered from her present prison, this Iroquois Orpheus made 
the best of his way back to earth, and arrived in safety with 
his precious charge in his native village. His own and his 
sister's friends were now called together, and the body of the 
damsel was disinterred and prepared to receive the soul which 
should reanimate it. Everything was ready to complete the 
resurrection, when the impatience of one of the female attend- 
ants utterly foiled the success of the attempt. Some red sister 
of Eve who was among the lookers on could not restrain her 
curiosity. She had loved the deceased maiden, and she must 
needs peep into the calabash to see how the soul looked 



NOTES ON KACHESCO. 235 

divested of all drapery. Whereon, precisely as Eros of old 
spread his pinions and flew from prying Psyche, so the soul 
took wing on the instant, and fled from prying love. As the 
flying shade casts no shadow in its movements through our 
atmosphere, Sayadyio could not trace it even for a moment in 
its flight ; and abandoning all pursuit, he was obliged to sit 
down disconsolate, with the conviction that he had derived no 
other benefit from his journey than that of having been in the 
place of souls, and having it in his power to relate certain true 
things which would not fail of reaching posterity, 

STANZA XVI. 

Of portages and lakes whose name 
As tittered in his native speech, 
If memory could have hoarded each, 
A portage-labor Uwere to carry. 

It is very difficult, even with the aid of the straggling In- 
dians who still haunt the wilderness around the sources of the 
Hudson, to recover the aboriginal terminology. The Hurons, 
the Adirondacs, the Otawas and Iroquois had probably there, 
for centuries, their common hunting-ground ; and the geograph- 
ical names, therefore, often traceable to at least four different 
languages, are necessarily much confused; while, from occa- 
sional similarity of physical feature in lake and mountain, none 
but our habitual dwellers in these solitudes could properly 
identify the Indian terms with the localities to which they refer. 
Still, the explanation of those which occur in the succeeding 
stanzas may, perhaps, interest the idle tourist who wanders to 
the wild region described in the text : Reuna (or A-rey-una), 
Green-rocks, Paskungemah, better known perhaps as Tupper's 
Lake. Onegora, " wampum strewn," equivalent to the Seneca 
Tunessa-sah, " a place of pebbles.'' Toxvarloondah (Mohawk), 
" Hill of Storms;" supposed to be the " Mount Emmons" of 
the Geographical Survey. Onkorlah (Mohawk), -'The Big 
Eye," from a singular white spot near the summit. It is named 



236 NOTES ON KA CHE SCO. , 

"Mount Seward" in the Geological Survey. Ounotvarlah 
(Mohawk), " Scalp Mountain." A^odoneyo, " Hill of the Wind 
Spirit." Wahopartenie, known also as " White Face Moun- 
tain." Yowhayle, "Dead-ground." Tioratie (Mohawk), 
" The Sky, or Sky-like." Kurloonah, " Place of the Death 
Song." Cahogaronta, " Torrent in the Woods." Tahmviis 
means literally, "He splits the Sky;" it is called "Mount 
Marcy " in the Geological Survey. Metatik, " The Enchanted 
Wood," evidently from Metai and Awuk. Sandanona, a 
mountain near Lake Henderson. Gioiendaiiqua, a cascade, 
like " A Hanging Spear." Twenungasko, a double voice. 

STAxNZA XVII. 

Yes, Inca-pah-co ! though thy name 
Has never Jlowed in poet^s nu7nbers. 

" Inca-pah-co " {Anglice, Lindenmere) is so called by the 
Indians from its forests of bass-wood, or American linden. 
It is better known perhaps by the insipid name of " Long 
Lake," and is one of that chain of mountain lakes which, 
though closely interlacing with the sources of the Hudson, 
discharge themselves through Racket River into the St. Law- 
rence. They lie on the borders of Essex, in Hamilton county. 
New York. Inca-pah-co, where the scene of our story is 
chiefly laid, is about eighteen miles in length ; but though a 
noble lake, it is perhaps not so picturesque in character as 
some of those referred to in the previous note. The finest of 
all, perhaps, Killoquore (Mohawk), rayed, like the sun, is some, 
times called " Ragged Lake." 

STANZA XXVI. 

" . . . . that gorge'' s quaking throat. 

Reft by Otneyarh' s giant band, 

Where splinters of the mountain vast, 
Though lashed by cable roots, aghast^ 

Toppling, amid their ruin, standi 



NOTES ON KACHESO. 237 

The Giant's Pass, near Lake Henderson, is one of the finest 
scenes of the Adirondac Mountains, if not one of the most ex- 
traordinary upon the continent. The writer has attempted a 
description of it in his " Wild Scenes of the Forest and Prairie," 
where a particular version of the Iroquois legend of Otneyarh, 
or the band of Stonish Giants, is also given. These fabled 
monsters were walking quairies of flint, in the shape of men 
who could stride through your common granite as if it were 
cheese. They certainly dashed the crags to the right and left 
after a most extraordinary fashion in that colossal " Notch " near 
the Adirondac Iron Works. See the testimony of Cusick, an 
Indian, about these ancient folk, in Schoolcraft's " Notes on 
the Iroquois." 



PART II. — STANZA I. 

Bright Nidkah, doe-eyed forest girl ! 

Nulkah, or " Noolka," means " doe-eyed," in one of our 
Indian dialects. 

STANZA VIII. 

The Red Bird'' s nest above it suning ; 
There often the Ma-ma-twa sting ; 
And Moning-gzuuna'' s quills of gold 
Through leaves like flickering sunshine told. 

The Red Bird, Baltimore Oriole or " hanging bird," as he 
is often called from the mode of building his nest, is very brief 
in his visits to this mountain regicjn. The Ma-ma-twa, or Cat- 
bird, the finest of our northern songsters, save the Bob-o-linkum, 
exercises his mocking freakishness there upon sounds which he 
can rarely find to imitate in the woods elsewhere ; and this 
may make him linger longer with the short summer. But the 
M)ning-gwuna, "High-Hold," *' Golden Winged Wood- 



238 NOTES ON KA CHE SCO. 

pecker," and " Flicker," as he is severally called, seems to 
make this his favorite i-egion ; and wherever there is an open- 
ing in the forest, his rich orange-colored wing will be seen 
playing, like bright-hued flowers, around some old gray 
slump. 

STANZA XXII. 

To wander thus ivhere'er he may. 
Of 7uomaji and of f?ian the scorn. 

In some tribes, when the penalty of death is thus changed for 
that of degradation, the criminal who so regains his forfeited 
life is considered as unsexed. He then becomes the mental 
slave of the first person who chooses to take possession of him, 
and is obliged to submit to tasks of exposure the most toilsome, 
and domestic offices the most humiliating ; his master or owner 
(or husband, as he is whimsically called) being permitted to 
exercise every species of tyrannical cruelty upon him, provided 
he shed not the blood of the poor wretch who is thus subjected 
to his caprices. See Tanner's Narrative ; see also " The Equa- 
wish," in '■^ Life on the Lakes ^'' by the author of ^^ Legends of a 
Lor Cabin.^^ 



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